endeavoured to contribute to its clearness. "Your mother will crow,
she'll crow--"

"Like the early bird!" said Sir Claude as she looked about for a
comparison.

"She'll need no consolation," Mrs. Beale went on, "for having made your
father grandly blaspheme."

Maisie stared. "Will he grandly blaspheme?" It was impressive, it might
have been out of the Bible, and her question produced a fresh play of
caresses, in which Sir Claude also engaged. She wondered meanwhile who,
if Mrs. Wix was disposed of, would represent in her life the element of
geography and anecdote; and she presently surmounted the delicacy she
felt about asking. "Won't there be any one to give me lessons?"

Mrs. Beale was prepared with a reply that struck her as absolutely
magnificent. "You shall have such lessons as you've never had in all
your life. You shall go to courses."

"Courses?" Maisie had never heard of such things.

"At institutions--on subjects."

Maisie continued to stare. "Subjects?"

Mrs. Beale was really splendid. "All the most important ones. French
literature--and sacred history. You'll take part in classes--with
awfully smart children."