"Yes, I see what you mean. But at
that time they weren't free." She felt Mrs. Wix rear up again at the
offensive word, but she succeeded in touching her with a remonstrant
hand. "I don't think you know how free they've become."
"I know, I believe, at least as much as you do!"
Maisie felt a delicacy but overcame it. "About the Countess?"
"Your father's--temptress?" Mrs. Wix gave her a sidelong squint.
"Perfectly. She pays him!"
"Oh DOES she?" At this the child's countenance fell: it seemed to give a
reason for papa's behaviour and place it in a more favourable light. She
wished to be just. "I don't say she's not generous. She was so to me."
"How, to you?"
"She gave me a lot of money."
Mrs. Wix stared. "And pray what did you do with a lot of money?"
"I gave it to Mrs. Beale."
"And what did Mrs. Beale do with it?"
"She sent it back."
"To the Countess? Gammon!" said Mrs. Wix. She disposed of that plea as
effectually as Susan Ash.
"Well, I don't care!" Maisie replied. "What I mean is that you don't
know about the rest."
"The rest? What rest?"
Maisie wondered how she could best put it. "Papa kept me there an hour."
"I do know--Sir Claude told me. Mrs. Beale had told him."
Maisie looked incredulity. "How could she--when I didn't speak of it?"
Mrs. Wix was mystified. "Speak of what?"
"Why, of her being so frightful."
"The Countess? Of course she's frightful!" Mrs. Wix returned. After a
moment she added: "That's why she pays him.
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