His reply was anything but straight. "You and I?"
Maisie sat back in her chair. "Mrs. Wix and me."
Sir Claude also shifted. "That's an inquiry, my dear child, that Mrs. Beale herself must answer." Yes, he had shifted; but abruptly, after a moment during which something seemed to hang there between them and, as it heavily swayed, just fan them with the air of its motion, she felt that the whole thing was upon them. "Do you mind," he broke out, "my asking you what Mrs. Wix has said to you?"
"Said to me?"
"This day or two, while I was away."
"Do you mean about you and Mrs. Beale?"
Sir Claude, resting on his elbows, fixed his eyes a moment on the white marble beneath them. "No; I think we had a good deal of that—did n't we?—before I left you. It seems to me we had it pretty well all out. I mean about yourself, about your—don't you know?—associating with us, as I might say, and staying on with us. While you were alone with our friend what did she say?"
Maisie felt the weight of the question;
