Mrs. Assingham hesitated, but at last her bravery flared. "Why
not call it then frankly his complete success?"
"Well," said Maggie, "that's all that's left me to do."
"It's a success," her friend ingeniously developed, "with which
you've simply not interfered." And as if to show that she spoke
without levity Mrs. Assingham went further. "He has made it a
success for THEM--!"
"Ah, there you are!" Maggie responsively mused. "Yes," she said
the next moment, "that's why Amerigo stays."
"Let alone it's why Charlotte goes." that Mrs. Assingham, and
emboldened, smiled "So he knows--?"
But Maggie hung back. "Amerigo--?" After which, however, she
blushed--to her companion's recognition.
"Your father. He knows what YOU know? I mean," Fanny faltered--
"well, how much does he know?" Maggie's silence and Maggie's eyes
had in fact arrested the push of the question--which, for a
decent consistency, she couldn't yet quite abandon. "What I
should rather say is does he know how much?" She found it still
awkward. "How much, I mean, they did. How far"--she touched it
up--"they went."
Maggie had waited, but only with a question. "Do you think he
does?"
"Know at least something? Oh, about him I can't think. He's
beyond me," said Fanny Assingham.
"Then do you yourself know?"
"How much--?"
"How much."
"How far--?"
"How far."
Fanny had appeared to wish to make sure, but there was something
she remembered--remembered in time and even with a smile. "I've
told you before that I know absolutely nothing."
"Well--that's what _I_ know," said the Princess.
Her friend again hesitated. "Then nobody knows--? I mean," Mrs.
Assingham explained, "how much your father does."