between them?

"Was the tall doctor so very interesting?" she ventured to inquire.

"Not in the least!" He answered as if the subject was disagreeable to
him--and yet he returned to it. "By-the-by, did you ever hear Benjulia's
name mentioned, at home in Italy?"

"Never! Did he know my father and mother?"

"He says so."

"Oh, do introduce me to him!"

"We must wait a little. He prefers being introduced to the monkey
to-day. Where are Miss Minerva and the children?"

Teresa replied. She pointed to the monkey-house, and then drew Ovid
aside. "Take her to see some more birds, and trust me to keep the
governess out of your way," whispered the good creature. "Make love--hot
love to her, doctor!"

In a minute more the cousins were out of sight. How are you to make love
to a young girl, after an acquaintance of a day or two? The question
would have been easily answered by some men. It thoroughly puzzled Ovid.

"I am so glad to get back to you!" he said, honestly opening his mind to
her. "Were you half as glad when you saw me return?"

He knew nothing of the devious and serpentine paths by which love finds
the way to its ends. It had not occurred to him to approach her with
those secret tones and stolen looks which speak for themselves. She
answered with the straightforward directness of which he had set the
example.

"I hope you don't think me insensible to your kindness," she said. "I am
more pleased and more proud than I can tell you."

"Proud!" Ovid repeated, not immediately understanding her.

"Why not?" she asked. "My poor father used to say you would be an honour
to the family. Ought I not to be proud, when I find such a man taking so
much notice of me?"

She looked up at him shyly. At that moment, he would have resigned all
his prospects of celebrity for the privilege of kissing her. He made
another attempt to bring her--in spirit--a little nearer to him.

"Carmina, do you remember where you first saw me?"

"How can you ask?--it was in the concert-room. When I saw you there,
I remembered passing you in the large Square. It seems a strange
coincidence that you should have gone to the very concert that Teresa
and I went to by accident."

Ovid ran the risk, and made his confession. "It was no coincidence," he
said. "After our meeting in the Square I followed you to the concert."

This bold avowal would have confused a less innocent girl. It only took
Carmina by surprise.

"What made you follow us?"