“There’s something in me, Frances, that shudders at my aunt, ever since—”
She stopped.
Miss Minerva understood that sudden pause—the undesigned allusion to Carmina’s guiltless knowledge of her feeling towards Ovid. By unexpressed consent, on either side, they still preserved their former relations as if Mrs. Gallilee had not spoken. Miss Minerva looked at Carmina sadly and kindly. “Good-bye for the present!” she said—and went upstairs again to the schoolroom.
In the hall, Carmina found the servant waiting for her. He opened the library door. The learned lady was at her studies.
“I have been speaking to Mr. Null about you,” said Mrs. Gallilee.
On the previous evening, Carmina had kept her room. She had breakfasted in bed—and she now saw her aunt for the first time, since Mrs. Gallilee had left the house on her visit to Benjulia. The girl was instantly conscious of a change—to be felt rather than to be realised—a subtle change in her aunt’s way of looking at her and speaking to her. Her heart beat fast. She took the nearest chair in silence.
“The doctor,” Mrs. Gallilee proceeded, “thinks it of importance to your health to be as much as possible in the air. He wishes you to drive out every day, while the fine weather lasts. I have ordered the open carriage to be ready, after luncheon. Other engagements will prevent me from accompanying you. You will be under the care of my maid, and you will be out for two hours. Mr. Null hopes you will gain strength. Is there anything you want?”
“Nothing—thank you.”
“Perhaps you wish for a new dress?”
“Oh, no!”