He laughed again. "Perhaps she does n't care!"
Maisie, with an inspiration, pounced on his arm. "Has she gone?"
He met her eyes, and then she could see that his own were really much graver than his manner. "Gone?" She had flown to the door, but before she could raise her hand to knock he was beside her and had caught it. "Let her be. I don't care about her. I want to see you."
Maisie fell back with him. "Then she has n't gone?"
He still looked as if it were a joke; but the more she saw of him the more she could make out that he was troubled. "It wouldn't be like her!"
She stood looking up at him. "Did you want her to come?"
"How can you suppose—?" He put it to her candidly. "We had an immense row over it."
"Do you mean you 've quarrelled?"
Sir Claude hesitated. "What has she told you?"
"That I 'm hers as much as yours. That she represents papa."
His gaze struck away through the open
