only had a turban he would have been quite her idea of a heathen Turk.
"He's quite my idea," Mrs. Wix replied, "of a heathen Jew."
"Well, I mean," said Maisie, "of a person who comes from the East."
"That's where he must come from," her governess opined. "He comes from the City." In a moment she added as if she knew all about him: "He's one of those people who have lately broken out. He 'll be immensely rich."
"On the death of his papa?" the child interestedly inquired.
"Dear, no—nothing hereditary. I mean he has made a lot of money."
"How much, do you think?" Maisie demanded.
Mrs. Wix reflected and sketched it. "Oh, many millions."
"A hundred?" said her questioner.
Mrs. Wix was n't sure of the number, but there were enough of them to have seemed to warm up for the time the penury of the schoolroom, to linger there as an afterglow of the hot, heavy light Mr. Perriam sensibly shed. This was also, no doubt, on his part, an effect of that enjoyment of life with which,
