“Perhaps then you can conjugate the verb _amo_,” Guy said, his manner indicating the doubt he was beginning to feel as to her qualifications. Maddy knew what _conjugate_ meant, but that verb _amo_, what could it mean? and had she ever heard it before? Mr. Remington was waiting for her, she _must_ say something, and with a gasp she began: “_I amo, thou amoest, he amoes. Plural: We amo, ye or you amo, they amo._” Guy looked at her aghast for a single moment, and then a comical smile broke all over his face, telling poor Maddy plainer than words could have done, that she had made a most ridiculous mistake. “Oh, sir,” she cried, her eyes wearing the look of the frightened hare, “it is not right. I don’t know what it means. Tell me, teach me. What does _amo_ mean?” To most men it would not have seemed a very disagreeable task, teaching young Madeline Clyde what _amo_ meant, and some such idea flitted across Guy’s mind, as he thought how pretty and bright was the eager face upturned to his, the pure white forehead, suffused with a faint flush, the cheeks a crimson hue, and the pale lips parted slightly as Maddy appealed to him for the definition of _amo_. “It is a Latin verb, and means to _love_,” Guy said, with an emphasis on the last word, which would have made Maddy blush had she been less anxious and frightened. Thus far she had answered nothing correctly, and feeling puzzled to know how to proceed, Guy stepped into the adjoining room to consult with the doctor, but he was gone. So returning again to Madeline, Guy resumed the examination by asking her how “_minus_ into _minus_ could produce _plus_.” Again Maddy was at fault, and her low-spoken “I don’t know” sounded like a wail of despair. Did she know anything? Guy wondered, and feeling some curiosity now to ascertain that fact, he plied her with questions philosophical, questions algebraical, and questions geometrical, until in an agony of distress Maddy raised her hands deprecatingly, as if she would ward off any similar questions, and sobbed out: “Oh, sir, no more of this. It makes my head so dizzy. They don’t teach that in common schools. Ask me something I do know.” Suddenly it occurred to Guy that he had gone entirely wrong, and mentally cursing himself for the blockhead the doctor had called him, he asked, kindly: “What do they teach? Perhaps you can enlighten me?” “Geography, arithmetic, grammar, history, and spelling-book,” Madeline replied, untying and throwing off her bonnet, in the vain hope that it might bring relief to her poor, giddy head, which throbbed so fearfully that all her ideas seemed for the time to have left her.