smile of intelligence broke afresh in his eyes. He turned them in vague discomfort to Maisie, and then something in the way she met them caused him to chuck her playfully under the chin. It was not till after this that he good-naturedly met Mrs. Wix. "You think me worse than I am."
"If that were true," she returned, "I would n't appeal to you. I do, Sir Claude, in the name of all that 's good in you—and, oh, so earnestly! We can help each other. What you 'll do for our young friend here I need n't say. That is n't even what I want to speak of now. What I want to speak of is what you'll get—don't you see?—from such an opportunity to take hold. Take hold of us—take hold of her. Make her your duty—make her your life: she 'll repay you a thousand-fold!"
It was to Mrs. Wix, during this appeal, that Maisie's contemplation transferred itself partly because, though her heart was in her throat for trepidation, she felt a certain delicacy about appearing herself to press the question; partly from the coercion of seeing Mrs. Wix come out as Mrs. Wix had never come before—not even on the day of her call at Mrs. Beale's with the news
