"My going away again is just the point. I can't tell yet—it all depends."
"On Mrs. Beale?" Maisie asked. "She won't go away." He finished emptying his coffee-cup and then when he had put it aside leaned back in his chair and let her see that he smiled at her. This only added to her idea that he was in trouble, that he was turning somehow in his pain and trying different things. He continued to smile, and she presently went on: "Don't you know that?"
"Yes, I may as well confess to you that as much as that I do know. She won't go away. She 'll stay."
"She'll stay. She'll stay," Maisie repeated.
"Just so. Won't you have some more coffee?"
"Yes, please."
"And another buttered roll?"
"Yes, please."
He signed to the hovering waiter, who arrived with the shining spout of plenty in either hand and with the friendliest interest in mademoiselle. "Les tartines sont là." Their cups were replenished, and while he watched almost musingly the bubbles in
