le. She was
sincerely fond of the girls, whom she had taught to play incorrectly,
and to read French with an accent unrecognized in Paris, but Miss
Martineau was a worry, was a great deal too officious, and so the
girls shut themselves away from her and from all other neighbors for
the first month after their mother's death.

CHAPTER III.

MISS MARTINEAU.

Primrose was the soul of hospitality; having decided that Miss
Martineau was to be admitted that evening, it occurred to her that she
might as well make things pleasant for this angular, good-humored, and
somewhat hungry personage. Primrose could cook charmingly, and when
dinner was over she turned to her sisters, and said in her usual
rather slow way--

"I am going to make some cream-cakes for tea; and Jasmine, dear, you
might put some fresh flowers in the vases; and Daisy--"; she paused as
she looked at her sister--the child's blue eyes were fixed on her, she
noticed with a pang that the little face was pale, and the dimpled
mouth looked sad.

"Daisy," she said, suddenly, "you can go into the garden, and have a
romp with the Pink."

"The Pink" was Daisy's favorite kitten.

Daisy laughed aloud, Jasmine started up briskly from the dinner-table,
and Primrose, feeling that she had done well, went into the kitchen to
consult with Hannah, the old cook, over the making of the
cream-cakes.

The result of all this was that when Miss Martineau, sharp at four
o'clock (the hours were very primitive at Rosebury), arrived at the
Mainwarings' door, the outward aspect of the house bore no tokens of
violent grief on the part of its inmates--the blinds were drawn up,
not quite to the top, for that would have been ugly, and Jasmine was
full of artistic instincts, but they were drawn up to let in plenty of
sunlight, the white muslin curtains were draped gracefully, some pots
of fresh flowers could be seen on the window-ledge, and a canary in a
rather battered cage hung from a hook above, and disported himself
cheerfully in the sunlight.

Miss Martineau was very old-fashioned in her ideas, and she did not
much like the look of the bay window.

She comforted herself, however, with the reflection that even under
the direst afflictions blinds must be drawn up some time, and that she
would doubtless find the poor dear girls in a state of tempestuous
grief within. She imagined herself soothing Jasmine, holding
Primrose's hand, and allowing Daisy to sit on her knee. Mis