as you are, my dear, she 's free enough to be sure!"
"As I am?"—Maisie, after reflection and in the face of what of portentous this seemed to convey, risked a critical echo.
"Well," said Mrs. Wix, "nobody, you know, is free to commit a crime."
"A crime?"—the word had come out in a way that made the child echo it again.
"You'd commit as great a one as their own—and so should I!—if we were to condone their immorality by our presence."
Maisie waited a little; this seemed so fiercely conclusive. "Why is it immorality?" she nevertheless presently inquired.
Her companion now turned upon her with a reproach softer because it was somehow deeper. "You 're too unspeakable! Do you know what we 're talking about?"
In the interest of ultimate calm Maisie felt that she must be, above all, clear. "Certainly; about their taking advantage of their freedom."
"Well, to do what?"
"Why, to live with us."
Mrs. Wix's laugh, at this, was literally wild. "'Us'? thank you!"
"Then to live with me."
