"Where are we going, Miss Jasmine?" she asked aloud, smothering back a slight sigh.
"Business first, Poppy," said Jasmine—"business first and then pleasure. I thought we'd make a little programme in this way—we'd visit the publishers at their seats of learning in the morning hours; in the afternoon we might go to Madame Tussaud's or a picture gallery—I'd prefer that, but of course naturally you'd go in for Madame Tussaud's, Poppy; then in the evening we'll go and have tea with Daisy. We'll bring something nice in for tea, and Daisy will be so happy. I expect to have very good news to bring to my little sister to-night, Poppy."
"Oh, indeed, miss, I'm sure I'm gratified to hear that same. I think, Miss Jasmine, that the programme sounds sensible—the dull part first, and then the pleasure, and then the needed refreshment for our hungry bodies. All things considered, Miss Jasmine, seeing that I eats the bread of toil from morn to eve, and have a swimming head, owing to being Sarah with every other name tacked on, I think it might be best for me to be enlivened with the waxen figures, miss, and not to have my poor brain worrited with picters."
"All right, Poppy, we will certainly go to Madame Tussaud's—but you must not consider the first part of our day dull, dear Poppy—it is business, certainly, but you don't know what it means to me. To-day, Poppy, I am about to take my first soaring flight."
"Oh law! Miss Jasmine—I always knew you were clever, miss, and I suppose it is because I'm so worried in my business days that I've got that stupid that I can't see no meaning at all in your words, miss."
"All right, Poppy, you need not see any meaning in them—all you have to do is to come with me, and look very grave and solemn, and say 'Yes' when I say 'Yes,' and shake your head and look stern when I do. You are older than me, Poppy, and you are coming as a sort of chaperon. Oh dear! Poppy, I wish you would not wear that scarlet wing and those yellow flowers in your hat."
"The cruellest of all the bitings," whispered Poppy under her breath. Aloud she said, in a meek but determined little voice—
"That hat's as it's trimmed, Miss Jasmine, and must remain according, for it can't be denuded in the street."
"All right, Poppy. Your own dear face looks sweet and home-like under it; now let us get into the very first omnibus, and find our way to the city."
When the girls arrived within the sacred precincts of the far-famed Paternoster Row, Jasmine held her breath a little, and stood still while she eagerly considered as to which publishing house she should offer her wares. Finally, she determined that her first pilgrimage should be to the editor of The Downfall, who had not yet returned or even written to her about her "Ode to Adversity."