n, thinking
of one of Miss Minerva's suggestions, "doesn't my aunt look to a higher
marriage for you than a marriage with me?"

It was impossible to deny that Mrs. Gallilee's views might justify that
inquiry. Had she not more than once advised him to wait a few years--in
other words, to wait until he had won the highest honours of his
profession--before he thought of marrying at all? But Carmina was too
precious to him to be humiliated by comparisons with other women, no
matter what their rank might be. He paid her a compliment, instead of
giving her an answer.

"My mother can't look higher than you," he said. "I wish I could feel
sure, Carmina--in leaving you with her--that I am leaving you with a
friend whom you trust and love."

There was a sadness in his tone that grieved her. "Wait till you come
back," she replied, speaking as gaily as she could. "You will be ashamed
to remember your own misgivings. And don't forget, dear, that I have
another friend besides your mother--the best and kindest of friends--to
take care of me."

Ovid heard this with some surprise. "A friend in my mother's house?" he
asked.

"Certainly!"

"Who is it?"

"Miss Minerva."

"What!" His tone expressed such immeasurable amazement, that Carmina's
sense of justice was roused in defence of her new friend.

"If I began by wronging Miss Minerva, I had the excuse of being a
stranger," she said, warmly. "You have known her for years, and you
ought to have found out her good qualities long since! Are all men
alike, I wonder? Even my kind dear father used to call ugly women the
inexcusable mistakes of Nature. Poor Miss Minerva says herself she
is ugly, and expects everybody to misjudge her accordingly. I don't
misjudge her, for one. Teresa has left me; and you are going away next.
A miserable prospect, Ovid, but not quite without hope. Frances--yes, I
call her by her Christian name, and she calls me by mine!--Frances will
console me, and make my life as happy as it can be till you come back."

Excepting bad temper, and merciless cultivation of the minds of
children, Ovid knew of nothing that justified his prejudice against
the governess. Still, Carmina's sudden conversion inspired him with
something like alarm. "I suppose you have good reasons for what you tell
me," he said.

"The best reasons," she replied, in the most positive manner.

He considered for a moment how he could most delicately inquire what
those reasons might be. But val