that moment.
"Not yet," was his only reply.

Mrs. Gallilee led the way into the room. "Ovid's luggage is not ready
yet," she announced; "I believe he will lose his train."

They were all at the breakfast table, the children and the governess
included. Carmina's worn face, telling its tale of a wakeful night,
brightened again, as it had brightened at the bedroom window, when she
saw Ovid. She took his hand frankly, and made light of her weary looks.
"No, my cousin," she said, playfully; "I mean to be worthier of my
pretty bed to-night; I am not going to be your patient yet." Mr.
Gallilee (with this mouth full at the moment) offered good advice. "Eat
and drink as I do, my dear," he said to Carmina; "and you will sleep as
I do. Off I go when the light's out--flat on my back, as Mrs. Gallilee
will tell you--and wake me if you can, till it's time to get up. Have
some buttered eggs, Ovid. They're good, ain't they, Zo?" Zo looked
up from her plate, and agreed with her father, in one emphatic word,
"Jolly!" Miss Minerva, queen of governesses, instantly did her duty.
"Zoe! how often must I tell you not to talk slang? Do you ever hear
your sister say 'Jolly?'" That highly-cultivated child, Maria, strong
in conscious virtue, added her authority in support of the protest.
"No young lady who respects herself, Zoe, will ever talk slang." Mr.
Gallilee was unworthy of such a daughter. He muttered under his
breath, "Oh, bother!" Zo held out her plate for more. Mr. Gallilee was
delighted. "My child all over!" he exclaimed. "We are both of us good
feeders. Zo will grow up a fine woman." He appealed to his stepson to
agree with him. "That's your medical opinion, Ovid, isn't it?"

Carmina's pretty smile passed like rippling light over her eyes and
her lips. In her brief experience of England, Mr. Gallilee was the one
exhilarating element in family life.

Mrs. Gallilee's mind still dwelt on her son's luggage, and on the
rigorous punctuality of railway arrangements.

"What is your servant about?" she said to Ovid. "It's his business to
see that you are ready in time."

It was useless to allow the false impression that prevailed to continue
any longer. Ovid set them all right, in the plainest and fewest words.

"My servant is not to blame," he said. "I have written an apology to my
friend--I am not going away."

For the moment, this astounding announcement was received in silent
dismay--excepting the youngest member of the company. Af