Was she merely wanted for some ordinary domestic consultation? or was there really a chance of hearing the question of Ovid and Carmina brought forward at the coming interview?
She believed what she hoped: she believed that the time had come when Mrs. Gallilee had need of an ally—perhaps of an accomplice. Only let her object be the separation of the two cousins—and Miss Minerva was eager to help her, in either capacity. Suppose she was too cautious to mention her object? Miss Minerva was equally ready for her employer, in that case. The doubt which had prompted her fruitless suggestions to Carmina, when they were alone in the young girl’s room—the doubt whether a clue to the discovery of Mrs. Gallilee’s motives might not be found, in that latter part of the Will which she had failed to overhear—was as present as ever in the governess’s mind. “The learned lady is not infallible,” she thought as she entered Mrs. Gallilee’s room. “If one unwary word trips over her tongue, I shall pick it up!”
Mrs. Gallilee’s manner was encouraging at the outset. She had left her writing-table; and she now presented herself, reclining in an easy chair, weary and discouraged—the picture of a woman in want of a helpful friend.
“My head aches with adding up figures, and writing letters,” she said. “I wish you would finish my correspondence for me.”
Miss Minerva took her place at the desk. She at once discovered the unfinished correspondence to be a false pretence. Three cheques for charitable subscriptions, due at that date, were waiting to be sent to three secretaries, with the customary letters. In five minutes, the letters were ready for the post. “Anything more?” Miss Minerva asked.
“Not that I remember. Do you mind giving me my fan? I feel perfectly helpless—I am wretchedly depressed to-day.”
“The heat, perhaps?”
“No. The expenses. Every year, the demands on our resources seem to increase. On principle, I dislike living up to our income—and I am obliged to do it.”
Here, plainly revealed to the governess’s experienced eyes, was another false pretence—used to introduce the true object of the interview, as something which might accidentally suggest itself in the course of conversation. Miss Minerva expressed the necessary regret with innocent readiness. “Might I suggest economy?” she asked with impenetrable gravity.
“Admirably advised,” Mrs. Gallilee admitted; “but how is it to be done? Those subscriptions, for instance, are more than I ought to give. And what happens if I lower the amount? I expose myself to unfavourable comparison with other people of our rank in society.”