She turned to the governess.
"Have you been here already this morning?" she inquired.
"No."
"Is there some coolness between you and my niece?"
"None, madam, that I know of."
"Then, why don't you speak to her when you come into the room?"
"Miss Carmina has been ill. I see her resting on the sofa--and I am unwilling to disturb her."
"Not even by saying good-morning?"
"Not even that!"
"You are exceedingly careful, Miss Minerva."
"I have had some experience of sick people, and I have learnt to be careful. May I ask if you have any particular reason for calling me downstairs?"
Mrs. Gallilee prepared to put her niece and her governess to the final test.
"I wish you to suspend the children's lesson for an hour or two," she answered.
"Certainly. Shall I tell them?"
"No; I will tell them myself."
"What do you wish me to do?" said Miss Minerva.
"I wish you to remain here with my niece."
If Mrs. Gallilee, after answering in those terms, had looked at her niece, instead of looking at her governess, she would have seen Carmina--distrustful of her own self-control--move on the sofa so as to turn her face to the wall. As it was, Miss Minerva's attitude and look silently claimed some explanation.
Mrs. Gallilee addressed her in a whisper. "Let me say a word to you at the door."
Miss Minerva followed her to the landing outside. Carmina turned again, listening anxiously.
"I am not at all satisfied with her looks, this morning," Mrs. Gallilee proceeded; "and I don't think it right she should be left alone. My household duties must be attended to. Will you take my place at the sofa, until Mr. Null comes?" ("Now," she thought, "if there is jealousy between them, I shall see it!")
She saw nothing: the governess quietly bowed to her, and went back to Carmina. She heard nothing: although the half-closed door gave her opportunities for listening. Ignorant, she had entered the room. Ignorant, she left it.
Carmina lay still and silent. With noiseless step, Miss Minerva approached the sofa, and stood by it, waiting. Neither of them lifted her eyes, the one to the other. The woman suffered her torture in secret. The girl's sweet eyes filled slowly with tears. One by one the minutes of the morning passed--not many in number, before there was a change. In silence, Carmina held out her hand. In silence, Miss Minerva took it and kissed it.
CHAPTER XXIX.
Mrs. Gallilee saw her housekeeper as usual, and gave her orders for the day. "If there is anything forgotten," she said, "I must leave it to you. For the next hour or two, don't let me be disturbed."
Some of her letters of the morning were still unread, others required immediate acknowledgment. She was not as ready for her duties as usual. For once, the most unendurably industrious of women was idle, and sat thinking.
Even her unimaginative nature began to tremble on the verge of superstition. Twice, had the subtle force of circumstances defeated her, in the attempt to meddle with the contemplated marriage of her son. By means of the music-master, she had planned to give Ovid jealous reasons for doubting Carmina--and she had failed. By means of the governess, she had planned to give Carmina jealous reasons for doubting Ovid--and she had failed. When some people talked of Fatality, were they quite such fools as she had hitherto supposed them to be? It would be a waste of time to inquire. What next step could she take?
Urged by the intolerable sense of defeat to find reasons for still looking hopefully to the future, the learned Mrs. Gallilee lowered herself to the intellectual level of the most ignorant servant in the house. The modern Muse of Science unconsciously opened her mind to the vulgar belief in luck. She said to herself, as her kitchen-maid might have said, We will see what comes of it, the third time!
Benjulia's letter was among the other letters waiting on the table. She took it up, and read it again.
In her present frame of mind, to find her thoughts occupied by the doctor, was to be reminded of Ovid's strange allusion to his professional colleague, on the day of his departure. Speaking of Carmina, he had referred to one person whom he did not wish her to see in his absence; and that person, he had himself admitted to be Benjulia. He had been asked to state his objection to the doctor--and how had he replied? He had said, "I don't think Benjulia a fit person to be in the company of a young girl."
Why?
There are many men of mature age, who are not fit persons to be in the company of young girls--but they are either men who despise, or men who admire, young girls. Benjulia belonged neither to the one nor to the other of these two classes. Girls were objects of absolute indifference to him--with the one exception of Zo, aged ten. Never yet, after meeting him in society hundreds of times, had Mrs. Gallilee seen him talk to young ladies or even notice young ladies. Ovid's alleged reason for objecting to Benjulia stood palpably revealed as a clumsy excuse.
In the present posture of events, to arrive at that conclusion was enough for Mrs. Gallilee. Without stopping to pursue the idea, she rang the bell, and ordered her carriage to be ready that afternoon, at three o'clock.
Doubtful, and more than doubtful, though it might be, the bare prospect of finding herself possessed, before the day was out, of a means of action capable of being used against Carmina, raised Mrs. Gallilee's spirits. She was ready at last to attend to her correspondence.
One of the letters was from her sister in Scotland. Among other subjects, it referred to Carmina.
"Why won't you let that sweet girl come and stay with us?" Lady Northlake asked. "My daughters are longing for such a companion; and both my sons are ready to envy Ovid the moment they see her. Tell my nephew, when you next write, that I thoroughly understand his falling in love with that gentle pretty creature at first sight."
Carmina's illness was the ready excuse which presented itself in Mrs. Gallilee's reply. With or without an excuse, Lady Northlake was to be resolutely prevented from taking a foremost place in her niece's heart, and encouraging the idea of her niece's marriage. Mrs. Gallilee felt almost pious enough to thank Heaven that her sister's palace in the Highlands was at one end of Great Britain, and her own marine villa at the other!
The marine villa reminded her of the family migration to the sea-side.
When would it be desirable to leave London? Not until her mind was relieved of the heavier anxieties that now weighed on it. Not while events might happen--in connection with the threatening creditors or the contemplated marriage--which would baffle her latest calculations, and make her presence in London a matter of serious importance to her own interests. Miss Minerva, again, was a new obstacle in the way. To take her to the Isle of Wight was not to be thought of for a moment. To dismiss her at once, by paying the month's salary, might be the preferable course to pursue--but for two objections.