Baker Street, where at a hungry hour she had sat down with him to tea and buns, he brought out a question disconnected from previous talk. "I say, you know—what do you suppose your father would do?"
Maisie had not long to cast about nor to question his pleasant eyes. "If you were really to go with us? He would make a great complaint."
He seemed amused at the term she employed. "Oh, I should n't mind a 'complaint.'"
"He would talk to every one about it," said Maisie.
"Well, I should n't mind that either."
"Of course not," the child hastened to respond. "You 've told me you 're not afraid of him."
"The question is, are you?" said Sir Claude.
Maisie candidly considered; then she spoke resolutely. "No—not of papa."
"But of somebody else?"
"Certainly, of lots of people."
"Of your mother, first and foremost, of course."
"Dear, yes; more of mamma than of—than of—"
