She cried, with a
pang, straight AT him, cried as she had never cried at any one in all
her life. "Oh do you love her?" she brought out with a gulp that was
the effect of her trying not to make a noise.
It was doubtless another consequence of the thick mist through which she
saw him that in reply to her question the Captain gave her such a queer
blurred look. He stammered, yet in his voice there was also the ring of
a great awkward insistence. "Of course I'm tremendously fond of her--I
like her better than any woman I ever saw. I don't mind in the least
telling you that," he went on, "and I should think myself a great beast
if I did." Then to show that his position was superlatively clear he
made her, with a kindness that even Sir Claude had never surpassed,
tremble again as she had trembled at his first outbreak. He called her
by her name, and her name drove it home. "My dear Maisie, your mother's
an angel!"
It was an almost unbelievable balm--it soothed so her impression of
danger and pain. She sank back in her chair, she covered her face
with her hands. "Oh mother, mother, mother!" she sobbed. She had an
impression that the Captain, beside her, if more and more friendly, was
by no means unembarrassed; in a minute, however, when her eyes were
clearer, he was erect in front of her, very red and nervously looking
about him and whacking his leg with his stick. "Say you love her, Mr.
Captain; say it, say it!" she implored.
Mr. Captain's blue eyes fixed themselves very hard.
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