"He can't!" Mrs. Wix tragically commented.
Mrs. Beale, erect and alive in her defeat, jerked her handsome face
about. "He can't!" she literally mocked.
"He can't, he can't, he can't!"--Sir Claude's gay emphasis wonderfully
carried it off.
Mrs. Beale took it all in, yet she held her ground; on which Maisie
addressed Mrs. Wix. "Shan't we lose the boat?"
"Yes, we shall lose the boat," Mrs. Wix remarked to Sir Claude.
Mrs. Beale meanwhile faced full at Maisie. "I don't know what to make of
you!" she launched.
"Good-bye," said Maisie to Sir Claude.
"Good-bye, Maisie," Sir Claude answered.
Mrs. Beale came away from the door. "Goodbye!" she hurled at Maisie;
then passed straight across the room and disappeared in the adjoining
one.
Sir Claude had reached the other door and opened it. Mrs. Wix was
already out. On the threshold Maisie paused; she put out her hand to her
stepfather. He took it and held it a moment, and their eyes met as the
eyes of those who have done for each other what they can. "Good-bye," he
repeated.
"Good-bye." And Maisie followed Mrs. Wix.
They caught the steamer, which was just putting off, and, hustled across
the gulf, found themselves on the deck so breathless and so scared that
they gave up half the voyage to letting their emotion sink. It sank
slowly and imperfectly; but at last, in mid-channel, surrounded by the
quiet sea, Mrs. Wix had courage to revert. "I didn't look back, did
you?"
"Yes.
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