by the window, thinking of Ovid. The decline of day has
its melancholy affinities with the decline of life. As the evening wore
on, her loneliness had become harder and harder to endure. She rang for
the maid, and asked if Miss Minerva was at leisure. Miss Minerva had
been sent for by Mrs. Gallilee. Where was Zo? In the schoolroom, waiting
until Mr. Le Frank had done with Maria, to take her turn at the piano.
Left alone again, Carmina opened her locket, and put Ovid's portrait by
it on the table. Her sad fancy revived her dead parents--imagined her
lover being presented to them--saw him winning their hearts by his
genial voice, his sweet smile, his wise and kindly words. Miss Minerva,
entering the room, found her still absorbed in her own little melancholy
daydream; recalling the absent, reviving the dead--as if she had been
nearing the close of life. And only seventeen years old. Alas for
Carmina, only seventeen!

"Mrs. Gallilee wishes to see you."

She started. "Is there anything wrong?" she asked.

"No. What makes you think so?"

"You speak in such a strange way. Oh, Frances, I have been longing for
you to keep me company! And now you are here, you look at me as coldly
as if I had offended you. Perhaps you are not well?"

"That's it. I am not well."

"Have some of my lavender water! Let me bathe your forehead, and then
blow on it to cool you this hot weather. No? Sit down, dear, at any
rate. What does my aunt want with me?"

"I think I had better not tell you."

"Why?"

"Your aunt is sure to ask you what I have said. I have tried her temper;
you know what her temper is! She has sent me here instead of sending a
maid, on the chance that I may commit some imprudence. I give you her
message exactly as the servant might have given it--and you can tell her
so with a safe conscience. No more questions!"

"One more, please. Is it anything about Ovid?"

"No."

"Then my aunt can wait a little. Do sit down! I want to speak to you."

"About what?"

"About Ovid, of course!"

Carmina's look and tone at once set Miss Minerva's mind at ease.
Her conduct, on the day of Ovid's departure, had aroused no jealous
suspicion in her innocent rival. She refused to take the offered chair.

"I have already told you your aunt is out of temper," she said. "Go to
her at once."

Carmina rose unwillingly. "There were so many things I wanted to say to
you," she began--and was interrupted by a rapid little series of knocks
at