"It is—it is." Maisie spoke as one now dressed quite up to the occasion; as one indeed who, with the last touch, had put on the judgment-cap. "I must see him immediately."
"How can you see him if he does n't send for you?"
"Why can't I go and find him?"
"Because you don't know where he is."
"Can't I just look in the salon?" That still seemed simple to Maisie.
Mrs. Wix, however, instantly cut it off. "I wouldn't have you look in the salon for all the world!" Then she explained a little: "The salon isn't ours now."
"Ours?"
"Yours and mine. It 's theirs."
"Theirs?" Maisie, with her stare, continued to echo. "You mean they want to keep us out?"
Mrs. Wix faltered; she sank into a chair and, as Maisie had often enough seen her do before, covered her face with her hands. "They ought to, at least. The situation's too monstrous!"
Maisie stood there a moment—she looked about the room. "I 'll go to him—I' ll find him."
