“That’s only fair,” Churton said; and I laughed, and promised to wait till I was appealed to. But I felt rather uneasy. Churton looked from one to the other of us, in a suspicious sort of way.
“It’s no use to look at me, Churton,” I said. “I have not the least idea what it is that Maimie means to say.”
Maimie sat facing Churton. The two were such a curious contrast. He had grown into a burly sort of man, too red in the face, and restless in manner. And Maimie was so fair and gentle, with her pale skin, and short flaxen hair, and dark eyes. She sat very still, with folded hands, while he kept up a continual fidget.
“Father, do I belong to you, or do I belong to Uncle Robert?”
The question took me by surprise, at least as much as it took Churton by surprise. I believe we both stared at her.
“What on earth is the girl driving at?” demanded Churton at length.
“It is a simple question,” Maimie said, speaking steadily, though her lips were pale. “Am I your child, or am I Uncle Robert’s child? Of course I am neither really,—but which am I to count myself?”
“I’ve not given you up, my girl,” said Churton.
“You mean that I am yours?”
“To be sure,—yes,—why not?” he asked.