She grew bolder still. "I don't care—not a bit!"
"But they 're probably the worst people in the world and the very greatest criminals," Beale pleasantly urged. "I 'm not the man, my dear, not to let you know it."
"Well, it doesn't prevent them from loving me. They love me tremendously." Maisie turned crimson to hear herself.
Her father hesitated: almost any one—let alone a daughter—would have seen how conscientious he wanted to be. "I dare say. But do you know why?" She braved his eyes, and he added: "You're a jolly good pretext."
"For what?" Maisie asked.
"Why, for their game. I need n't tell you what that is."
The child reflected. "Well, then, that's all the more reason."
"Reason for what, pray?"
"For their being kind to me."
"And for your keeping in with them?" Beale roared again; it was as if his spirits rose and rose. "Do you realize, I should like to know, that in saying that you 're a monster?"
Maisie turned it over. "A monster?"
