“I don’t know what is the matter with me. Sometimes I think I am going
to be really ill.”
It was the day after Mrs. Gallilee’s interview with her lawyer--and this
was Carmina’s answer, when the governess entered her room, after the
lessons of the morning, and asked if she felt better.
“Are you still taking medicine?” Miss Minerva inquired.
“Yes. Mr. Null says it’s a tonic, and it’s sure to do me good. It
doesn’t seem to have begun yet. I feel so dreadfully weak, Frances. The
least thing makes me cry; and I put off doing what I ought to do, and
want to do, without knowing why. You remember what I told you about
Teresa? She may be with us in a few days more, for all I know to the
contrary. I must find a nice lodging for her, poor dear--and here I am,
thinking about it instead of doing it.”
“Let me do it,” Miss Minerva suggested.
Carmina’s sad face brightened. “That’s kind indeed!” she said.
“Nonsense! I shall take the children out, after dinner to-day. Looking
over lodgings will be an amusement to me and to them.”
“Where is Zo? Why haven’t you brought her with you?”
“She is having her music lesson--and I must go back to keep her in
order. About the lodging? A sitting-room and bedroom will be enough,
I suppose? In this neighbourhood, I am afraid the terms will be rather
high.”
“Oh, never mind that! Let us have clean airy rooms--and a kind landlady.
Teresa mustn’t know it, if the terms are high.”
“Will she allow you to pay her expenses?”
“Ah, _you_ put it delicately! My aunt seemed to doubt if Teresa had any
money of her own. I forgot, at the time, that my father had left her a
little income. She told me so herself, and wondered, poor dear, how she
was to spend it all. She mustn’t be allowed to spend it all. We will
tell her that the terms are half what they may really be--and I will pay
the other half. Isn’t it cruel of my aunt not to let my old nurse live
in the same house with me?”
At that moment, a message arrived from one of the persons of whom she
was speaking. Mrs. Gallilee wished to see Miss Carmina immediately.
“My dear,” said Miss Minerva, when the servant had withdrawn, “why do
you tremble so?”
“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!”
“You have no complaint to make of the servants?”
“The servants are always kind to me.”
“I needn’t detain you any longer--I have a person coming to speak to
me.”
Carmina had entered the room in doubt and fear. She left it with
strangely-mingled feelings of perplexity and relief. Her sense of a
mysterious change in her aunt had strengthened with every word that Mrs.
Gallilee had said to her. She had heard of reformatory institutions, and
of discreet persons called matrons who managed them. In her imaginary
picture of such places, Mrs. Gallilee’s tone and manner realised, in the
strangest way, her idea of a matron speaking to a penitent.
As she crossed the hall, her thoughts took a new direction. Some
indefinable distrust of the coming time got possession of her. An ugly
model of the Colosseum, in cork, stood on the hall table. She looked
at it absently. “I hope Teresa will come soon,” she thought--and turned
away to the stairs.
She ascended slowly; her head drooping, her mind still preoccupied.
Arrived at the first landing, a sound of footsteps disturbed her. She
looked up--and found herself face to face with Mr. Le Frank, leaving the
schoolroom after his music lesson. At that sudden discovery, a cry of
alarm escaped her--the common little scream of a startled woman. Mr. Le
Frank made an elaborately formal bow: he apologised with sternly stupid
emphasis. “I _beg_ your pardon.”
Moved by a natural impulse, penitently conscious of those few foolish
words of hers which he had so unfortunately overheard, the poor girl
made an effort to conciliate him. “I have very few friends, Mr. Le
Frank,” she said timidly. “May I still consider you as one of them? Will
you forgive and forget? Will you shake hands?”
Mr. Le Frank made another magnificent bow. He was proud of his voice. In
his most resonant and mellifluous tones, he said, “You do me honour--”
and took the offered hand, and lifted it grandly, and touched it with
his lips.
She held by the baluster with her free hand, and controlled the
sickening sensation which that momentary contact with him produced.
He might have detected the outward signs of the struggle, but for an
interruption which preserved her from discovery. Mrs. Gallilee was
standing at the open library door. Mrs. Gallilee said, “I am waiting for
you, Mr. Le Frank.”
Carmina hurried up the stairs, pursued already by a sense of her own
imprudence. In her first confusion and dismay, but one clear idea
presented itself. “Oh!” she said, “have I made another mistake?”
Meanwhile, Mrs. Gallilee had received her music-master with the nearest
approach to an indulgent welcome, of which a hardened nature is capable.
“Take the easy chair, Mr. Le Frank. You are not afraid of the open
window?”
“Oh, dear no! I like it.” He rapidly unrolled some leaves of music
which he had brought downstairs. “With regard to the song that I had the
honour of mentioning--”
Mrs. Gallilee pointed to the table. “Put the song there for the present.
I have a word to say first. How came you to frighten my niece? I heard
something like a scream, and naturally looked out. She was making an
apology; she asked you to forgive and forget. What does all this mean?”
Mr. Le Frank exhausted his ingenuity in efforts of polite evasion
without the slightest success. From first to last (if the expression
may be permitted) Mrs. Gallilee had him under her thumb. He was not
released, until he had literally reported Carmina’s opinion of him as
a man and a musician, and had exactly described the circumstances under
which he had heard it. Mrs. Gallilee listened with an interest, which
(under less embarrassing circumstances) would have even satisfied Mrs.
Le Frank’s vanity.
She was not for a moment deceived by the clumsy affectation of good
humour with which he told his story. Her penetration discovered the
vindictive feeling towards Carmina, which offered him, in case of
necessity, as an instrument ready made to her hand. By fine degrees, she
presented herself in the new character of a sympathising friend.
“I know now, Mr. Le Frank, why you declined to be my niece’s
music-master. Allow me to apologise for having ignorantly placed you
in a false position. I appreciate the delicacy of your conduct--I
understand, and admire you.”
Mr. Le Frank’s florid cheeks turned redder still. His cold blood began
to simmer, heated by an all-pervading glow of flattered self-esteem.
“My niece’s motives for concealment are plain enough,” Mrs. Gallilee
proceeded. “Let me hope that she was ashamed to confess the total want
of taste, delicacy, and good manners which has so justly offended you.
Miss Minerva, however, has no excuse for keeping me in the dark. Her
conduct, in this matter, offers, I regret to say, one more instance of
her habitual neglect of the duties which attach to her position in my
house. There seems to be some private understanding between my governess
and my niece, of which I highly disapprove. However, the subject is too
distasteful to dwell on. You were speaking of your song--the last effort
of your genius, I think?”
His “genius”! The inner glow in Mr. Le Frank grew warmer and warmer.
“I asked for the honour of an interview,” he explained, “to make a
request.” He took up his leaves of music. “This is my last, and, I hope,
my best effort at composition. May I dedicate it--?”
“To me!” Mrs. Gallilee exclaimed with a burst of enthusiasm.
Mr. Le Frank felt the compliment. He bowed gratefully.
“Need I say how gladly I accept the honour?” With this gracious answer
Mrs. Gallilee rose.
Was the change of position a hint, suggesting that Mr. Le Frank might
leave her to her studies, now that his object was gained? Or was it an
act of homage offered by Science to Art? Mr. Le Frank was incapable
of placing an unfavourable interpretation on any position which a
woman--and such a woman--could assume in his presence. He felt the
compliment again. “The first copy published shall be sent to you,” he
said--and snatched up his hat, eager to set the printers at work.
“And five-and-twenty copies more, for which I subscribe,” cried his
munificent patroness, cordially shaking hands with him.
Mr. Le Frank attempted to express his sense of obligation. Generous Mrs.
Gallilee refused to hear him. He took his leave; he got as far as the
hall; and then he was called back--softly, confidentially called back to
the library.
“A thought has just struck me,” said Mrs. Gallilee. “Please shut the
door for a moment. About that meeting between you and my niece? Perhaps,
I am taking a morbid view?”
She paused. Mr. Le Frank waited with breathless interest.
“Or is there something out of the common way, in that apology of hers?”
Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. “Have you any idea what the motive might be?”
Mr. Le Frank’s ready suspicion was instantly aroused. “Not the least
idea,” he answered. “Can you tell me?”
“I am as completely puzzled as you are,” Mrs. Gallilee rejoined.
Mr. Le Frank considered. His suspicions made an imaginative effort,
assisted by his vanity. “After my refusal to teach her,” he suggested,
“that proposal to shake hands may have a meaning--” There, his invention
failed him. He stopped, and shook his head ominously.
Mrs. Gallilee’s object being attained, she made no attempt to help
him. “Perhaps, time will show,” she answered discreetly. “Good-bye
again--with best wishes for the success of the song.”