"I don't believe he would be afraid of Mr. Dove," she whispered softly, under her breath. "Oh dear! why am I so terribly frightened?

Why does he make my heart beat? and why do I shake so when I see him?

Well, I'll never tell about his bringing me up the sticky sweetmeats--of course I'll not tell. I promised I wouldn't; it would be dreadful to break one's promise. Of course I know where people go who break their promises. No, I promised Mr. Dove, and I must always, and always, and always keep my word; but I did not promise him that I'd stay here. He wanted me to, and I just had it on the tip of my tongue, for I was dreadfully frightened, but he heard a noise, and he went away. I'm so glad I didn't promise, because the Prince says I should go and live in the Palace Beautiful. He thinks I'm a selfish little girl. Oh dear! how terrified I shall be, but I won't be a selfish little girl, and keep Primrose and Jasmine away from the Palace, and break the kind lady's heart. I must try and write a very private little note to Mr. Dove, and tell him that though I am going away I'll always and always keep my word about the sweeties, and I'll always be his truest of friends, although I do fear him more than anything in the world."

Here Primrose came in, and poor little Daisy roused herself, and tried to talk cheerfully.

"Primrose," she said, "do you mind my writing a letter which n.o.body is to see?"

Primrose laughed.

"You funny pet!" she said; "if no one is to see the letter why do you trouble to write it?"

"I only mean, Primrose," continued Daisy, "that you are not to see it, nor Jasmine, nor Miss Egerton, nor Mr. Noel. It is to--to somebody; but you are not to be curious, Primrose, nor to ask any questions.

It's a most terribly important letter, and when it's written I'm going to put it in the post myself. I'll go out with you, and you must turn your back when I drop it into the pillar-box. You'll be very happy when it's written, Primrose, and I'm doing it for you and Jasmine, and because I won't be a selfish little girl."

Primrose stooped down and kissed Daisy.

"You may write your letter and post it," she said, "and I'll try not to be the least bit curious, Eyebright. Now sit down and write away, you have a nice quiet hour before Jasmine comes in to tea."

"So I have," answered Daisy; "thank you, Primrose. Please don't say anything to me when I'm writing."

Then Daisy in her corner blotted her fingers, and brought a deep flush to her little pale face, and ruined several sheets of note-paper, all of which she carefully tore up to the smallest fragments. At last an epistle, over which she sighed and trembled, and even dropped tears, was finished. It ran as follows:--

"MY DEAR FRIEND, MR. DOVE,--I always and always will be most true to you. I would not be such a wicked little girl as to break my word for anything I'm going always to keep it, and tortures, even the Inquisition, and even the rack, wouldn't get it out of me. Did you ever hear of the rack, Mr. Dove? but perhaps you had better not know.

Yes, I'll always keep my word, the word that I promised, and no one shall ever know about you and me and the sticky sweetmeats; but I won't keep the word that I didn't promise. You remember how you wanted me to give you another word that I'd always stay here, and keep Primrose and Jasmine here, instead of letting them go and going with them to the Palace Beautiful. I almost promised you, for you looked so fierce, and your eyes were so bloodshot, and cruel, and terrible, and I'd great work to keep remembering that you were really my friend; but I'm so glad I did not give you that word too, for now I know that I'd have done very wrong. A Prince has come to me, Mr. Dove, and told me I am very selfish to try to keep my sisters out of the Palace Beautiful.

He says the walls are covered with Goodness and the furniture is put there by Self-Denial, and the windows are shining because Love has polished them up. He says there's no Love and no Goodness here, and he calls your rooms dungeons. He's a very, very strong Prince, and he kills ogres--he even kills ogres who are friends to little girls.

Please, Mr. Dove, this is to say that I'm going away to the Palace Beautiful, and that I'll always keep my word about the sweeties.

"Your true little friend, DAISY."

Then Daisy fastened her letter, and directed it to Mr. Dove, No. 10, Eden Street, and she asked Primrose for a stamp, and then she and her eldest sister went out, and Primrose turned her back while Daisy dropped the letter into the nearest pillar-box.

The moment this was done the child gave a little skip, and caught Primrose's hand, and squeezed it hard, and said, in an excited voice--

"Now I've done it! I'm not going to be the selfish little girl who breaks people's hearts. Primrose, darling let us hurry back to the dungeons, and put all our things together, so that we may reach the Palace Beautiful to-night."

Poor Primrose, who was not in Daisy's secret, and knew nothing of Arthur Noel's allegory, was conscious of a momentary wild fear that her little sister had taken leave of her senses; but she soon began to see meaning in Daisy's words, and was only too glad to yield to the child's caprice at once.

That very night, therefore, 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 "ongrat.i.tude 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 x.x.xI.

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 prevented any one from ever being rude to her, she went, not to her china-painting as usual, but simply to take exercise in the London streets.

The fact was, Primrose wanted to be alone--she wanted to think out a problem. She was beginning to be perplexed, and even slightly alarmed.

Her alarm was not caused at present by anything in connection with Daisy, for Daisy seemed almost bright and well again; but money matters were not too prosperous with the young housekeeper, the life of independence she had hoped to attain for herself and her sisters seemed to recede from her view day by day--the china-painting brought in no apparent results; Mr. Jones never did anything except "all but"

get customers--the quarter's allowance from Mr. Danesfield looked smaller and more inadequate to Primrose the more her experience in expenses grew, and now something about Miss Egerton added to her cares. It seemed to Primrose that Miss Egerton was holding back something--she had always been frank and open with the girls, but when Primrose asked her how much their furniture had cost, and whether she had opened Mr. Danesfield's letter to pay for it the good lady's brow had grown troubled, and she had replied--

"I am busy to-day--I will go fully into the matter presently, Primrose;" but when morning after morning Miss Egerton was still too busy to go into the question, Primrose began to have nameless little fears, and had to scold herself for being fanciful and nervous.

On this afternoon she walked quickly, and without being herself aware of it she presently found herself in the neighborhood of Regent's Park, and at last not very far from Penelope Mansion. She was thinking hard, and paying little attention to any of the objects that met her eyes, when she was suddenly pulled up short by a round and hearty voice, a fat hand was laid on her shoulder, and she found herself face to face with Mrs. Dredge.

"Well, my dear, how are you, Miss Mainwaring? Oh, yes, I'm delighted to see you. You did give us the slip, you and your pretty sisters. I don't think Mrs. Flint quite liked it; we all questioned her, me, and Miss Slowc.u.m, and Mrs. Mortlock, and we said, 'At any rate give us their address, Mrs. Flint--we take an interest in them--they are pretty-spoken young ladies, and they were a credit to the establishment.' But Mrs. Flint only frowned and bit her lips, and colored. Then Mrs. Mortlock put her foot in it as far as Miss Slowc.u.m was concerned, for she said 'I'm sorry the girls from the country have departed, and that they found us so disagreeable that they had to do it unbeknown and quiet, for it was a real pleasure for ancient females like ourselves to have young and bonny creatures about us.'

"Miss Slowc.u.m got very stiff at this, for she apes youth, my dear, in a way that's past belief, and Mrs. Mortlock had her little fling on purpose. Well, dear, and how are you? You look thin to what you were, and a bit pale. How is that pretty little sister of yours who wanted the cheap lodgings, that was to be so clean you might eat on the floor?"

"We are all fairly well, Mrs. Dredge," replied Primrose, when she could edge in a word--for Mrs. Dredge was extremely voluble--"we are fairly well, only Daisy has been suffering from cold. We have got clean rooms too, thank you, Mrs. Dredge."

"Well now, dear, I'm glad to hear it; that pretty child amused me when she spoke of cheapness and cleanliness going hand in hand. Bless her little heart! little she knew.

"We have learned a great many things we knew nothing about six months ago Mrs. Dredge," answered Primrose, a tinge of sadness in her voice.

"Yes, I am very glad to see you again--please, remember me to all the ladies at Penelope Mansion."

"Oh, my dear, they'll be glad to hear I met you--even Miss Slowc.u.m will, though she's a little bitter on the subject of age; and as to that poor Sarah Maria, or Sarah Martha--I forget which she is, only I know she's Sarah, with something tacked to the end of it--why, she'll be fairly skipping with delight. That poor girl, she just worships the ground you three young ladies walk on."

"Oh, do give our dear love to Poppy," said Primrose tears springing to her eyes.

Those sudden tears did not escape the notice of fat, good-humored Mrs.

Dredge.

"I hope you're getting on comfortably in every way, dear," she said, "money matters and all. I had sore worries myself in the money line until poor Dredge made his fortune in the chandlery business. My dear, I was almost forgetting to tell you that we've had an affliction at the Mansion."