What Maisie Knew | Page 7

him than in snatching her away; so much so that her
conscience winced under the acuteness of a candid friend who had
remarked that the real end of all their tugging would be that each parent
would try to make the little girl a burden to the other--a sort of game in
which a fond mother clearly wouldn't show to advantage. The prospect
of not showing to advantage, a distinction in which she held she had
never failed, begot in Ida Farange an ill humour of which several
persons felt the effect. She determined that Beale at any rate should feel
it; she reflected afresh that in the study of how to be odious to him she
must never give way. Nothing could incommode him more than not to
get the good, for the child, of a nice female appendage who had clearly
taken a fancy to her. One of the things Ida said to the appendage was
that Beale's was a house in which no decent woman could consent to be
seen. It was Miss Overmore herself who explained to Maisie that she
had had a hope of being allowed to accompany her to her father's, and
that this hope had been dashed by the way her mother took it. "She says
that if I ever do such a thing as enter his service I must never expect to
show my face in this house again. So I've promised not to attempt to go
with you. If I wait patiently till you come back here we shall certainly
be together once more."

Waiting patiently, and above all waiting till she should come back there,
seemed to Maisie a long way round--it reminded her of all the things
she had been told, first and last, that she should have if she'd be good
and that in spite of her goodness she had never had at all. "Then who'll
take care of me at papa's?"
"Heaven only knows, my own precious!" Miss Overmore replied,
tenderly embracing her. There was indeed no doubt that she was dear to
this beautiful friend. What could have proved it better than the fact that
before a week was out, in spite of their distressing separation and her
mother's prohibition and Miss Overmore's scruples and Miss
Overmore's promise, the beautiful friend had turned up at her father's?
The little lady already engaged there to come by the hour, a fat dark
little lady with a foreign name and dirty fingers, who wore, throughout,
a bonnet that had at first given her a deceptive air, too soon dispelled,
of not staying long, besides asking her pupil questions that had nothing
to do with lessons, questions that Beale Farange himself, when two or
three were repeated to him, admitted to be awfully low--this strange
apparition faded before the bright creature who had braved everything
for Maisie's sake. The bright creature told her little charge frankly what
had happened--that she had really been unable to hold out. She had
broken her vow to Mrs. Farange; she had struggled for three days and
then had come straight to Maisie's papa and told him the simple truth.
She adored his daughter; she couldn't give her up; she'd make for her
any sacrifice. On this basis it had been arranged that she should stay;
her courage had been rewarded; she left Maisie in no doubt as to the
amount of courage she had required. Some of the things she said made
a particular impression on the child--her declaration for instance that
when her pupil should get older she'd understand better just how
"dreadfully bold" a young lady, to do exactly what she had done, had to
be.
"Fortunately your papa appreciates it; he appreciates it
IMMENSELY"--that was one of the things Miss Overmore also said,
with a striking insistence on the adverb. Maisie herself was no less
impressed with what this martyr had gone through, especially after
hearing of the terrible letter that had come from Mrs. Farange. Mamma

had been so angry that, in Miss Overmore's own words, she had loaded
her with insult--proof enough indeed that they must never look forward
to being together again under mamma's roof. Mamma's roof, however,
had its turn, this time, for the child, of appearing but remotely
contingent, so that, to reassure her, there was scarce a need of her
companion's secret, solemnly confided--the probability there would be
no going back to mamma at all. It was Miss Overmore's private
conviction, and a part of the same communication, that if Mr. Farange's
daughter would only show a really marked preference she would be
backed up by "public opinion" in holding on to him. Poor Maisie could
scarcely grasp that incentive, but she could surrender herself to the day.
She had conceived her first passion, and the