Still in search of a means to undermine the confidence which united Ovid and Carmina, and still calling on her invention in vain, Mrs. Gallilee had passed a sleepless night. Her maid, entering the room at the usual hour, was ordered to leave her in bed, and not to return until the bell rang. On ordinary occasions, Mrs. Gallilee was up in time to receive the letters arriving by the first delivery; the correspondence of the other members of the household being sorted by her own hands, before it was distributed by the servant. On this particular morning (after sleeping a little through sheer exhaustion), she entered the empty breakfast-room two hours later than usual. The letters waiting for her were addressed only to herself. She rang for the maid.
“Any other letters this morning?” she asked.
“Two, for my master.”
“No more than that!”
“Nothing more, ma’am—except a telegram for Miss Carmina.”
“When did it come?”
“Soon after the letters.”
“Have you given it to her?”
“Being a telegram, ma’am, I thought I ought to take it to Miss Carmina at once.”
“Quite right. You can go.”