nute to consult you."

Nothing could possibly be more gratifying to Daisy than to know that
Jasmine wished to ask her advice. She accordingly roused herself,
ceased to think of the Prince, and said, in a very bright little
voice--

"I'll help you the best I can, Jasmine."

"It's just this," said Jasmine, dashing down her pen on the top of
her manuscript, and causing thereby a great blot--"it's just this,
Daisy; I've got to do something, and you have got to help me."

"Oh, I'm sure if I can," said little Daisy, still in that slightly
patronizing voice, for the little maid's head was almost turned by
being thus appealed to. "Is it to sew on buttons for you, Jasmine? for
though I don't like sewing on buttons, I'll do it, or even--even--I'll
darn your stockings, dear Jasmine."

Jasmine laughed.

"It's nothing of that kind, Eyebright; it's something much, much more
important. You know, Daisy, what we came up to London for--why, of
course you know why we left all our dear friends, and are living in
about the very dullest part of London--of course you know?"

"Was it?" said Daisy, looking dubious; "was it--I never could quite
make out--because Primrose did not like Mrs. Ellsworthy?"

"Oh, you silly, silly little thing! What a dreadful thing to get into
your head, Daisy-flower! I did think you knew why we came to town, and
gave everything up, and made ourselves so miserable."

"We did make ourselves miserable," sighed Daisy, "and I had to take
Mr. Dove for my friend. I like to have him for my friend, though. What
was the reason, please, Jasmine?"

"We came to London for the glorious privilege of being independent,"
chanted Jasmine, in a majestic voice. "Daisy, I'm going to be it. I'm
going to fling my shackles to the winds. I'm going to soar."

"It sounds lovely," said Daisy. "You always were a poet, Jasmine, and
I suppose poets do talk like that; but how are you going to be
independent, Jasmine?"

"I'm going to earn money, little woman. Miss Egerton has kept me in
shackles. I've worn them patiently, but now I burst the bonds. Daisy,
I have formed a little theory. I believe girls are sent into the world
with a strong bias in a particular direction. You see, it always did
seem to be meant that dear Primrose was to be a companion, or
secretary, of some sort; for Mrs. Ellsworthy wanted her to be Mr.
Ellsworthy's secretary, and to write his letters for him. She would
not be that, even though it was her bent, and now