by side. At the same time it needed so definite a justification that, as Sir Claude now, at last, did face them, she at first supposed it in resentment of excessive familiarity. She was therefore yet more puzzled to see him show the whole of his serene beauty, as well as an equal interest in a matter quite distinct from any freedom but her ladyship's. "Did my wife come alone?" He could ask even that good-humoredly.
"When she called on me?" Mrs. Wix was red now; his good humor could n't keep down her color, which, for a minute, glowed there like her ugly honesty. "No—there was some one in the cab." The only attenuation she could think of was after a minute to add: "But they didn't come up."
Sir Claude broke into a laugh—Maisie herself could guess what it was at: while he now walked about, still laughing, and at the fireplace gave a gay kick to a displaced log, she felt more vague about almost everything than about the drollery of such a "they!" She in fact could scarce have told you if it was to deepen or to cover the joke that she bethought herself to remark: "Perhaps it was her maid."
