THE GOLDEN BOWL
render not a right to be? He took it in with his own long look and his grateful silence—so that nothing more for some instants passed between them. Their understanding sealed itself—he already felt she had made him right. But he was in presence too of the fact that Maggie had made her so; and always therefore without Maggie where in fine would he be? She united them, brought them together as with the click of a silver spring, so that on the spot, with the vision of it, his eyes filled, Charlotte facing him meanwhile with her expression made still stranger by the blur of his gratitude. Quite through it withal he smiled. "What my child does for me—!"
Through it all as well, that is still through the blur, he saw Charlotte, rather than heard her, reply. She held her paper wide open, but her eyes were wholly for his. "It isn't Maggie. It's the Prince."
"I say!"—he gaily rang out. "Then it's best of all."
"It's enough."
"Thank you for thinking so!" To which he added: "It's enough for our question, but it isn't—is it?—quite enough for our breakfast? Déjeunons."
She stood there however in spite of this appeal, her document always before them. "Don't you want to read it?"
He thought. "Not if it satisfies you. I don't require it."
But she gave him, as for her conscience, another chance. "You can if you like."
He hesitated afresh, but as for amiability, not for curiosity. "Is it funny."
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