It will be his utter destruction, for he 's certain after a while to loathe her."
"Then when he loathes her"—it was astonishing how she caught the idea—"he 'll just come right after us!" Maisie announced.
"Never."
"Never?"
"She 'll keep him. She 'll hold him forever."
Maisie doubted. "When he 'loathes' her?"
"That won't matter. She won't loathe him. People don't!" Mrs. Wix brought up.
"Some do. Mamma does," Maisie contended.
"Mamma does not!" It was startling—her friend contradicted her flat. " She loves him—she adores him. A woman knows." Mrs. Wix spoke not only as if Maisie were not a woman, but as if she would never be one. "I know!" she cried.
"Then why on earth has she left him?"
Mrs. Wix hesitated. "He hates her. Don't stoop so—lift up your hair. You know how I 'm affected toward him," she added, with dignity; "but you must also know that I see clear."
Maisie, all this time, was trying hard to
