apologies. He
affected not to understand what she meant--with what motive I am sure
I don't know. False and revengeful, you may say, and perhaps you may
be right. But the serious part of it, so far as I am concerned, is my
aunt's behaviour to me. If I had thwarted her in the dearest wish of her
life, she could hardly treat me with greater coldness and severity. She
has not stirred again, in the matter of my education. We only meet at
meal-times; and she receives me, when I sit down at table, as she might
receive a perfect stranger. Her icy civility is unendurable. And this
woman is my darling Ovid's mother!

"Have I done with my troubles now? No, Teresa; not even yet. Oh, how I
wish I was with you in Italy!

"Your letters persist in telling me that I am deluded in believing
Miss Minerva to be truly my friend. Do pray remember--even if I am
wrong--what a solitary position mine is, in Mrs. Gallilee's house! I can
play with dear little Zo; but whom can I talk to, whom can I confide in,
if it turns out that Miss Minerva has been deceiving me?

"When I wrote to you, I refused to acknowledge that any such dreadful
discovery as this could be possible; I resented the bare idea of it as
a cruel insult to my friend. Since that time--my face burns with
shame while I write it--I am a little, just a little, shaken in my own
opinion.

"Shall I tell you how it began? Yes; I will.

"My good old friend, you have your prejudices. But you speak your mind
truly--and whom else can I consult? Not Ovid! The one effort of my life
is to prevent him from feeling anxious about me. And, besides, I have
contended against his opinion of Miss Minerva, and have brought him to
think of her more kindly. Has he been right, notwithstanding? and are
you right? And am I alone wrong? You shall judge for yourself.

"Miss Minerva began to change towards me, after I had done the thing of
all others which ought to have brought us closer together than ever.
She is very poorly paid by my aunt, and she has been worried by little
debts. When she owned this, I most willingly lent her the money to pay
her bills--a mere trifle, only thirty pounds. What do you think she
did? She crushed up the bank-notes in her hand, and left the room in the
strangest headlong manner--as if I had insulted her instead of helping
her! All the next day, she avoided me. The day after, I myself went
to her room, and asked what was the matter. She gave me a most
extraordinary answer.