ore, Miss Egerton's nice rooms were occupied,
and that good lady laid her head on her own pillow with a light and
thankful heart.

Fortunately for Daisy, Dove was out while the packing was going on,
and only Mrs. Dove, with a very black scowl on her face, saw the girls
drive away in a four-wheeler. She refused to say good-bye to them,
and was heard to mutter that the "ongratitude of some folks was past
enduring."

"Here, Dove," she said, when late that night her lord and master came
in, "those pretty young ladies as you thought so much of--'the attics'
I called them, and always will call them--well, they're gone. They had
a four-wheeler, and off they've gone, bag and baggage. For my part I
ain't sorry, for now that them attics are painted up and cleaned,
which they did out of their own money, I may be able to rise my rent.
Those young ladies and I couldn't have kept together much longer.
Disobliging, I call them--disobliging, and shabby, and mistrustful;
it was only this morning I asked Miss Mainwaring for the loan of seven
and sixpence, and she up and said, 'I'm sorry I can't oblige you, Mrs.
Dove.' Those kind of young ladies don't suit me, and I'm thankful
they're gone. Why, Dove, how you do stare!--there's a letter waiting
for you on the table."

Dove took up his letter and read it carefully once or twice; after his
second reading he put it into his pocket, and turned to his wife--

"They've gone round to Miss Egerton's; isn't that so, my love?"

"Who do you mean by 'they,' Dove?"

"The three young ladies, of course."

"Oh, I suppose so; but I neither know nor care--I wash my hands of
them from this day forward!"

"Well, then, look here, Mrs. Dove, my love," said the husband, "I
_don't_ wash my hands of them--no, not by no means. It's all right if
they're gone to Miss Egerton's--there are trap-doors in the roof at
Miss Egerton's; I know the build of the house. There are trap-doors in
the roof, and quarter-day is coming on, Mrs. Dove, my only love!"

"Law, Dove! you have a most startling way of saying them poetic
lines," answered his wife.

CHAPTER XXXI.

A "CONTINUAL READER."

A few days after the girls were comfortably settled in their new
quarters Primrose went out. She went out all alone, for by this time
London streets and London ways were familiar to her. Neatly and very
quietly dressed, with the usual serene light on her sweet face, and
that dignity about her whole bearing which prevente