“I do not. Dan has explained it to me.”
Mrs. Casson’s maternal glance dwelt tenderly upon her dead sister’s daughter. “Maisie, I want to talk to you about Dan,” she began, but Maisie raised a deprecating hand.
“What profit could possibly arise from such a discussion?”
Mrs. Casson, however, was a woman driven by curiosity. “I wonder if he is in love with you, my dear. Sometimes I am almost certain of it, and at other times I am not so certain.”
“I think dear old simple Dan finds himself similarly afflicted.”
“Well?” The query, the inflection and the dramatic pause before the good soul continued were not lost on Maisie. “Why don’t you do something about it, dear?”
“Why should I?”
“You’re twenty-four years old—and certainly Dan Pritchard is the most eligible bachelor in your set. And I know you’re very, very fond of him.”
“Everybody is. He is wholly lovable.”
“Well, then, Maisie——”