he first something in her anxious
eyes, in the way she occasionally lost herself, that it would perfectly
explain. He was therefore now quite sure.

"You've got something up your sleeve."

She had a silence that made him right. "Well, when I tell you you'll
understand. It's only up my sleeve in the sense of being in a letter I
got this morning. All day, yes--it HAS been in my mind. I've been asking
myself if it were quite the right moment, or in any way fair, to ask you
if you could stand just now another woman."

It relieved him a little, yet the beautiful consideration of her manner
made it in a degree portentous. "Stand one--?"

"Well, mind her coming."

He stared--then he laughed. "It depends on who she is."

"There--you see! I've at all events been thinking whether you'd take
this particular person but as a worry the more. Whether, that is, you'd
go so far with her in your notion of having to be kind."

He gave at this the quickest shake to his foot. How far would she go in
HER notion of it.

"Well," his daughter returned, "you know how far, in a general way,
Charlotte Stant goes."

"Charlotte? Is SHE coming?"

"She writes me, practically, that she'd like to if we're so good as to
ask her."

Mr. Verver continued to gaze, but rather as if waiting for more. Then,
as everything appeared to have come, his expression had a drop. If this
was all it was simple. "Then why in the world not?"

Maggie's face lighted anew, but it was now another light. "It isn't a
want of tact?"

"To ask her?"

"To propose it to you."

"That _I_ should ask her?"

He put the question as an effect of his remnant of vagueness, but this
had also its own effect. Maggie wondered an instant; after which, as
with a flush of recognition, she took it up. "It would be too beautiful
if you WOULD!"

This, clearly, had not been her first idea--the chance of his words had
prompted it. "Do you mean write to her myself?"

"Yes--it would be kind. It would be quite beautiful of you. That is, of
course," said Maggie, "if you sincerely CAN."

He appeared to wonder an instant why he sincerely shouldn't, and indeed,
for that matter, where the question of sincerity came in. This virtue,
between him and his daughter's friend, had surely been taken for
granted. "My dear child," he returned, "I don't think I'm afraid of
Charlotte."

"Well, that's just what it's lovely to have from you. From the moment
you're NOT--the least little bit--I'll im