The governess's sallow complexion turned little by little to a dull
greyish white. Her hands, loosely clasped in her lap, tightened when
she heard Ovid's name. That slight movement over, she stirred no more.
After waiting a little, Carmina ventured to speak. "Frances," she said,
"you have not shaken hands with me yet." Miss Minerva slowly looked up,
keeping her hands still clasped on her lap.
"When is he coming back?" she asked. It was said quietly.
Carmina quietly replied, "Not yet--I am sorry to say."
"I am sorry too."
"It's good of you, Frances, to say that."
"No: it's not good of me. I'm thinking of myself--not of you." She
suddenly lowered her tone. "I wish you were married to him," she said.
There was a pause. Miss Minerva was the first to speak again.
"Do you understand me?" she asked.
"Perhaps you will help me to understand," Carmina answered.
"If you were married to him, even my restless spirit might be at peace.
The struggle would be over."
She left her chair, and walked restlessly up and down the room. The
passionate emotion which she had resolutely suppressed began to get
beyond her control.
"I was thinking about you last night," she abruptly resumed. "You are a
gentle little creature--but I have seen you show some spirit, when your
aunt's cold-blooded insolence roused you.
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