arned simply inexhaustible, but it was
surprising how it melted in her inexperienced grasp, and how very,
very little it seemed capable of purchasing.

In her first delight at finding herself capable of earning money she
had written an extravagantly hopeful letter to Primrose.

"You need not think at all of me, dear Primrose," she wrote; "keep all
the money you can collect to buy nice nourishing things for dear
little Daisy. Perhaps I shall become quite famous as an arranger of
flowers on great London dinner-tables. If I do get orders, and I think
I am sure of them, I shall not only be able to pay my own London
expenses, but will save something towards our emergency fund. Oh,
Primrose, my heart burns with longings to earn lots of money, and to
be great and strong and famous!"

This poor little enthusiastic letter reached Primrose when Daisy was
at her worst, and it so happened that it lightened her cares about the
little sister alone in London. She felt quite sure that Jasmine was
getting plenty of orders, and was earning sufficient money for her own
modest wants in the pretty way she spoke of; and in consequence she
did not send her any of the money which Daisy had returned to her.

But poor little Jasmine was not receiving orders so fast as Primrose
anticipated. One or two other ladies did ask her to dress their
dinner-tables for them, and one or two more promised to do so, and
then forgot all about it; but no one paid her as well as Mrs. Daintree
had done. Noel was out of town, and was unable to interest himself in
her behalf, and so it came to pass that the slender purse could not
supply the modest needs, and Jasmine was much too proud, and too
determined to help herself, to write to Primrose for money.

These were hard days for the little girl--days which were to prove the
stuff she was made of to the very uttermost--but doubtless they gave
her, as all anxious days of pain bravely borne do, a valuable
experience and a depth of character which she could not otherwise have
acquired.

The lesson she was to learn, however, was a painful one, and its
sharpness was to be felt very quickly.

Jasmine's hope of hopes lay in her beloved manuscript. That story, the
first-fruits of her young genius, must surely make her purse bulky,
and must wreathe her little brow with laurels. That story, too, was to
refund poor Poppy the money she had lent, and was to enable Jasmine to
live in comfort during her sister's absence.