lace and rusty black velvet, and ornamented with queer
little devices of colored beads.

She was delighted to see Primrose, and took her at once into her
little sitting-room. "Now my dear, you will stay and have dinner with
me. You don't mind having no meat, dear. My middle-day meal to-day
consists of a salad and a rice soufflee. You are welcome to share it
with me, Primrose."

"Thank you," said Primrose, "but I am not at all hungry. If you do not
mind, I will talk to you while you dine. Miss Martineau, I have come
to ask your advice."

Miss Martineau came up instantly and kissed the young girl on both
cheeks.

"My love, I am delighted. It gives me the sincerest pleasure to give
counsel to the young and inexperienced. Have you come from Mrs.
Ellsworthy, dearest?"

"Not at all," answered Primrose. "Mrs. Ellsworthy has nothing to say
to me. She is only a friend, nothing more. Miss Martineau, we have
discovered that we cannot live on our little income. Please will you
tell me how we can add to it, so that we three can keep together?"

"Keep together--impossible!" replied Miss Martineau. "There is nothing
whatever before you, Primrose, but to face the inevitable. The
inevitable means that you must break up your home--that you obtain,
through the kind patronage of the Ellsworthys, a situation as
governess, or companion, or something of that sort--and that the
little girls, Jasmine and Daisy, are put into a good school for the
orphan daughters of military men. The Ellsworthys will use their
influence toward this end. They are very kind--they have taken up your
cause warmly. Primrose, my dear, it sounds hard, but plain speaking is
best. You must be parted from your sisters. This is inevitable. You
have got to face it."

"It is not inevitable," answered Primrose--then she paused, and her
face turned very white.

"It is not inevitable," she repeated, "for this reason because neither
you nor Mrs. Ellsworthy have the smallest control over my sisters or
myself. I asked for your advice, but if this is the best you can give,
it is useless. Mrs. Ellsworthy never cared to know my mother, and she
is not going to part my mother's children now. Good-bye, Miss
Martineau--no, I am not hungry, I have a headache. Oh, I am not
offended--people mean to be kind, but there are things which one
cannot bear. No, Miss Martineau, the inevitable course you and Mrs.
Ellsworthy have been kind enough to sketch out, my sisters and I will
certa