CHAPTER XI.
BREAD AND BUTTER.
Primrose, her head a little more erect than usual, her step firm, anda proud bright light in her eyes, went quickly down the littlerambling village street. The plain black dress she wore set off heryellow hair and extremely fair complexion to the best advantage. Shehad never looked sweeter or more independent than at this moment,when, for the first time in her young life, she was about to ask forhelp.
Mr. Danesfield was not so busy this morning, and he saw his youngvisitor without delay.
"Sit down, my dear," he said; "I am very pleased to see you. You wantto ask for my advice? I will give it with the greatest pleasure."
Primrose raised her head slowly. "I have been thinking over what yousaid yesterday," she began. "As it is quite impossible for my sistersand me to live on our little income, even with the help of what youhave in the bank, we must try to help ourselves, must we not?"
"This is a brave thought, my dear--of course you must helpyourselves, and you will be none the worse for doing so."
"We must earn money," continued Primrose. "How can girls like us, whoare not educated--for I know we are not _really_ educated--add to ourincomes?"
Mr. Danesfield knit his brows. "Child," he said, "you ask me apuzzler. I have no children of my own, and I know very little aboutyoung folk. Of one thing, however, I am quite certain; Daisy can earnno money, nor can Jasmine. You, Primrose, might with some difficultyget a little place as a nursery governess; you are a nice,presentable-looking girl, my dear."
Primrose flushed, and the tears, wrung from great pain, came into hereyes.
"There is just one thing," she said, in a tremulous voice; "whateverhappens, we three girls won't be parted. On that point I have quitefirmly made up my mind."
Mr. Danesfield again knit his brows, and this time he fidgeteduneasily on his chair.
"Look here, Primrose," he said: "I am an old bachelor, and I don'tknow half nor a quarter the ways in which a woman may earn her living.I have always been told that a woman is a creature of resources. Nowit is a well-known fact that an old bachelor has no resources. You goand put your question to Miss Martineau, my dear. Miss Martineau is akind soul--'pon my word, now, a very kind soul--and she has managedwonderfully to exist herself on absolutely nothing. You go to MissMartineau, Primrose, and get some secrets from her. Everything in mypower you may depend on my doing. I will exert my interest, and mypurse is at your service."
Here Primrose got up.
"Good-bye, Mr. Danesfield," she said. "I know you mean to be verykind, but we three must keep together, and we must be independent."Then she left the office, and went again down the street.
Mr. Danesfield looked after her as she walked away.
"Poor, proud young thing!" he said to himself. "Life will be atussle for her, or I am much mistaken. She is really growingwonderfully nice-looking, too. How she flushed up when I said shewas presentable--poor child! poor child! That mother of theirsmight have done something to provide for those girls--lady-likegirls--distinguished-looking. I expect the mother was a weak, poorsoul. Well, I hope Miss Martineau will think of something. I must calland see Miss Martineau; 'pon my word I don't know what to suggest forthe children to do."
When Primrose arrived at Miss Martineau's, that lady was justdismissing the last of her morning pupils. She was standing on hersteps in her neat brown alpaca dress, over which she wore a largeblack apron of the same material with a bib to it. This apron hadcapacious pockets, which at the present moment were stuffed with herpupils' French exercises. On her head she had an antique-looking cap,made of black lace and rusty black velvet, and ornamented with queerlittle devices of colored beads.
She was delighted to see Primrose, and took her at once into herlittle sitting-room. "Now my dear, you will stay and have dinner withme. You don't mind having no meat, dear. My middle-day meal to-dayconsists of a salad and a rice soufflee. You are welcome to share itwith me, Primrose."
"Thank you," said Primrose, "but I am not at all hungry. If you do notmind, I will talk to you while you dine. Miss Martineau, I have cometo ask your advice."
Miss Martineau came up instantly and kissed the young girl on bothcheeks.
"My love, I am delighted. It gives me the sincerest pleasure to givecounsel to the young and inexperienced. Have you come from Mrs.Ellsworthy, dearest?"
"Not at all," answered Primrose. "Mrs. Ellsworthy has nothing to sayto me. She is only a friend, nothing more. Miss Martineau, we havediscovered that we cannot live on our little income. Please will youtell me how we can add to it, so that we three can keep together?"
"Keep together--impossible!" replied Miss Martineau. "There is nothingwhatever before you, Primrose, but to face the inevitable. Theinevitable means that you must break up your home--that you obtain,through the kind patronage of the Ellsworthys, a situation asgoverness, or companion, or something of that sort--and that thelittle girls, Jasmine and Daisy, are put into a good school for theorphan daughters of military men. The Ellsworthys will use theirinfluence toward this end. They are very kind--they have taken up yourcause warmly. Primrose, my dear, it sounds hard, but plain speaking isbest. You must be parted from your sisters. This is inevitable. Youhave got to face it."
"It is not inevitable," answered Primrose--then she paused, and herface turned very white.
"It is not inevitable," she repeated, "for this reason because neitheryou nor Mrs. Ellsworthy have the smallest control over my sisters ormyself. I asked for your advice, but if this is the best you can give,it is useless. Mrs. Ellsworthy never cared to know my mother, and sheis not going to part my mother's children now. Good-bye, MissMartineau--no, I am not hungry, I have a headache. Oh, I am notoffended--people mean to be kind, but there are things which onecannot bear. No, Miss Martineau, the inevitable course you and Mrs.Ellsworthy have been kind enough to sketch out, my sisters and I willcertainly not adopt."