Maisie glanced away over the apron of the cab—gazed a minute at the green expanse of the Regent's Park; and at the moment, coloring to the roots of her hair, she felt the small rush of an emotion more mature than any she had yet known. It consisted of a sudden sense of shame at placing in an inferior light, to so perfect a gentleman and so charming a person as Sir Claude, so very near a relative as Mr. Farange. She remembered, however, her friend's telling her that no one was seriously afraid of her father, and she turned round with a brave toss of her head. "Oh, I dare say I can manage him!"
Sir Claude smiled, but she noticed that the violence with which she had just changed color had brought into his own face a slight compunctious and embarrassed flush. It was as if he had caught his first glimpse of her sense of responsibility. Neither of them made a movement to get out, and after an instant he said to her: "Look here, if you say so, we won't, after all, go in."
"Ah, but I want to see Mrs. Beale!" the child murmured.
"But what if she does decide to take you? Then, you know, you 'll have to remain."
