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Updated: June 21, 2025
Wix said, "but especially between the two" to the point of God only knew what. Her description of the crisis made the child blanch. "Between which two? papa and mamma?" "Dear no. I mean between your mother and HIM." Maisie, in this, recognised an opportunity to be really deep. "'Him'? Mr. Perriam?" She fairly brought a blush to the scared face.
She could already see that his eyes were of the lightest blue. He was far nicer than Mr. Perriam. Mamma looked terrible from afar, but even under her guns the child's curiosity flickered and she appealed again to Sir Claude. "Is it IS it Lord Eric?" Sir Claude smoked composedly enough. "I think it's the Count." This was a happy solution it fitted her idea of a count.
"Well, my dear, I must say what you DON'T know ain't worth mentioning. That it won't go on for ever with Mr. Perriam since I MUST meet you you can suppose? But I meant dear Sir Claude." Maisie stood corrected rather than abashed. "I see. But it's about Mr. Perriam he's angry?" Mrs. Wix waited. "He says he's not." "Not angry? He has told you so?" Mrs. Wix looked at her hard. "Not about HIM!"
The visitor's grimace grew more marked as he continued to look, and the conscious little schoolroom felt still more like a cage at a menagerie. "Charming, charming, charming!" Mr. Perriam insisted; but the parenthesis closed with a prompt click. "There you are!" said her ladyship. "By-bye!" she sharply added. The next minute they were on the stairs, and Mrs.
"Then who is it with her?" "Blest if I know!" said Sir Claude. "Is it Mr. Perriam?" "Oh dear no Perriam's smashed." "Smashed?" "Exposed in the City. But there are quantities of others!" Sir Claude smiled. Maisie appeared to count them; she studied the gentleman's back. "Then is this Lord Eric?"
"She's quickly thinking." He appeared to enjoy it. Ida had wavered but an instant; her companion clearly gave her moral support. Maisie thought he somehow looked brave, and he had no likeness whatever to Mr. Perriam. His face, thin and rather sharp, was smooth, and it was not till they came nearer that she saw he had a remarkably fair little moustache.
Wix reflected and sketched it. "Oh many millions." "A hundred?" Mrs. Wix was not sure of the number, but there were enough of them to have seemed to warm up for the time the penury of the schoolroom to linger there as an afterglow of the hot heavy light Mr. Perriam sensibly shed.
All in a moment too that queer expression had leaped into the lovely things all in a moment she had had to accept her father as liking some one whom she was sure neither her mother, nor Mrs. Beale, nor Mrs. Wix, nor Sir Claude, nor the Captain, nor even Mr. Perriam and Lord Eric could possibly have liked.
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