Maria rose with dignity, and made one of her successful exits. “I am sorry, dear Miss Minerva, if I have done anything to make you angry.” She pointed the emphasis on “I,” by a side-look at her sister. Zo bounced out of the room, and performed the Italian boy’s dance on the landing. “For shame!” said Maria. Zo burst into singing. “Yah yah-yah-bellah-vitah-yah! Jolly! jolly! jolly!—we are going out for a drive!”
Carmina waited, to say a friendly word, before she followed the girls.
“You didn’t think me neglectful, Frances, when I let you go upstairs by yourself!” Miss Minerva answered sadly and kindly. “The best thing you could do was to leave me by myself.”
Carmina’s mind was still not quite at ease. “Yes—but you were in pain,” she said.
“You curious child! I am not in pain now.”
“Will you make me comfortable, Frances? Give me a kiss.”
“Two, my dear—if you like.”
She kissed Carmina on one cheek and on the other. “Now leave me to write,” she said.
Carmina left her.
The drive ought to have been a pleasant one, with Zo in the carriage. To Marceline, it was a time of the heartiest enjoyment. Maria herself condescended to smile, now and then. There was only one dull person among them. “Miss Carmina was but poor company,” the maid remarked when they got back.