e girls had not
yet found their mission in life; they were by no means crushed,
however, nor was Primrose tired of repeating what she firmly believed,
that with the New Year some of the sunshine of London life would be
theirs.

The quarterly allowance from Mr. Danesfield always arrived on the
first of the month. On the first of December this year the welcome
letter, with its still more welcome enclosure, was duly received. The
girls celebrated the event with a little breakfast feast--they ate
water-cresses, and Primrose and Jasmine had a sardine each to add
flavor to their bread and butter. Whatever happened, Daisy always had
her fresh egg, which she shared with the Pink, for the Pink had been
brought up daintily, and appreciated the tops of fresh eggs. On this
occasion Mrs. Dove herself brought up Primrose's letter. Letters came
so seldom to the girls that Mrs. Dove felt it quite excusable to gaze
very hard at the inscription, to study the name of the post town which
had left its mark on the envelope, and lingering a little in the room,
under cover of talking to Jasmine, to watch Primrose's face as she
opened the cover.

"It is from Mr. Danesfield, is it not, Primrose?" exclaimed
Jasmine--"Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Dove; no I didn't much care for
that new story which is begun in _The Downfall_."

Mrs. Dove had a habit of dropping little curtseys when she meant to be
particularly deferential--she now dropped three in succession, and
said in a high-pitched, and rather biting voice--

"It isn't to be expected that the opinions of young ladies and of
women who have gone through their world of experience, and therefore
know what's what, should coincide. I leave you ladies three to read
your refreshing news from absent friends."

Mrs. Dove then turned her back, and meekly shutting the door behind
her, left the girls to themselves.

"Them attics have become rather too uppish for my taste," she said to
Dove when she got downstairs. "I took them a letter just now, and, my
word! they had not eyes nor ears for me, though I toiled up all the
weary stairs, which my shortness of breath don't agree to. It wasn't
even 'Thank you very much, Mrs. Dove,' but all three of them, their
eyes was fixed on the letter as if they'd eat it. It's my belief,
Dove, that they're short of funds, for when I went yesterday to ask
for the trifling loan of tenpence three-farthings to pay the cobbler
for Tommy's boots, Miss Mainwaring said, as pr