The ordinary aspect of the schoolroom was seen no more.
Installed in a position of temporary authority, the parlour-maid sat silently at her needlework. Maria stood by the window, in the new character of an idle girl—with her handkerchief in her hand, and her everlasting book dropped unnoticed on the floor. Zo lay flat on her back, on the hearth-rug, hugging the dog in her arms. At intervals, she rolled herself over slowly from side to side, and stared at the ceiling with wondering eyes. Miss Minerva’s departure had struck the parlour-maid dumb, and had demoralized the pupils.
Maria broke the silence at last. “I wonder where Carmina is?” she said.
“In her room, most likely,” the parlour-maid suggested.
“Had I better go and see after her?”
The cautious parlour-maid declined to offer advice. Maria’s well-balanced mind was so completely unhinged, that she looked with languid curiosity at her sister. Zo still stared at the ceiling, and still rolled slowly from one side to the other. The dog on her breast, lulled by the regular motion, slept profoundly—not even troubled by a dream of fleas!
While Maria was still considering what it might be best to do, Carmina entered the room. She looked, as the servant afterwards described it, “like a person who had lost her way.” Maria exhibited the feeling of the schoolroom, by raising her handkerchief in solemn silence to her eyes. Without taking notice of this demonstration, Carmina approached the parlour-maid, and said, “Did you see Miss Minerva before she went away?”
“I took her message, Miss.”
“What message?”
“The message, saying she wished to see my mistress for a few minutes.”