vision of her vision. What there was no effective record of indeed
was the small strange pathos on the child's part of an innocence so
saturated with knowledge and so directed to diplomacy. What, further,
Beale finally laid hold of while he masked again with his fine presence
half the flounces of the fireplace was: "Do you know, my dear, I shall
soon be off to America?" It struck his daughter both as a short cut and
as the way he wouldn't have said it to his wife. But his wife figured
with a bright superficial assurance in her response.

"Do you mean with Mrs. Beale?"

Her father looked at her hard. "Don't be a little ass!"

Her silence appeared to represent a concentrated effort not to be. "Then
with the Countess?"

"With her or without her, my dear; that concerns only your poor daddy.
She has big interests over there, and she wants me to take a look at
them."

Maisie threw herself into them. "Will that take very long?"

"Yes; they're in such a muddle--it may take months. Now what I want to
hear, you know, is whether you'd like to come along?"

Planted once more before him in the middle of the room she felt herself
turning white. "I?" she gasped, yet feeling as soon as she had spoken
that such a note of dismay was not altogether pretty. She felt it still
more while her father replied, with a shake of his legs, a toss of his
cigarette-ash and a fidgety look--he was for ever taking one--all the