probably quite broken her down. But she hasn't."
Though he spoke as if he were sure, Maisie was strong in the impression she had just uttered and that she now again produced. "She has talked her over."
"Ah yes; over to herself, but not over to me."
Oh, she could n't bear to hear him say that! "To you? Don't you really believe how she loves you?"
Sir Claude hesitated. "Of course, I know she 's wonderful."
"She 's just every bit as fond of you as I am," said Maisie. "She told me so yesterday."
"Ah, then," he promptly exclaimed, "she has tried to affect you! I don't love her, don't you see? I do her perfect justice," he pursued, "but I mean I don't love her as I do you, and I 'm sure you would n't seriously expect it. She 's not my daughter—come, old chap! She's not even my mother, though I dare say it would have been better for me if she had been. I 'll do for her what I 'd do for my mother, but I won't do more." His real excitement broke out in a need to explain and justify himself, though
