The pages over which Zo pondered in endless perplexity were crumpled by weary fingers, and stained by frequent tears.

Oh, fatal knowledge! mercifully forbidden to the first two of our race, who shall count the crimes and stupidities committed in your name?
Miss Minerva leaned back in her easy-chair.

Her mind was occupied by the mysterious question of Ovid's presence at the concert.

She raised her keenly penetrating eyes to the ceiling, and listened for sounds from above.
"I wonder," she thought to herself, "what they are doing upstairs ?".