"She's very, very ill, poor darling," she said. "Very dangerously weak and ill; and I must trouble you to hasten with the paper, Mrs. Jones. One penn'orth of your most shining note, and two envelopes to match. Mind you, give me a paper with a good gloss on it, Mrs. Jones."
Mrs. Jones stared at Hannah Martin; but fetching down a box of note-paper, prepared to wrap some sheets in tissue paper.
"I shouldn't say Miss Primrose was ill," she remarked as she did so, "though she do seem worried, dear young lady."
When the shop-woman made this observation Hannah's pence tumbled down on the counter with a crash.
"Goodness gracious me, ma'am!" she exclaimed, "you don't mean to tell me that Miss Primrose Mainwaring is at Rosebury?"
"Why, of course, ma'am; why, don't you know? why you said but now how weak and ill she was."
"Never mind the paper," answered Hannah, "and never mind a word I said about anybody; just have the goodness to tell me where I'll find Miss Primrose."
"She was staying with Miss Martineau but yesterday and there's a gentleman come down, too—a very 'ansome, harristocratic-looking young man, I call him, and for all the world as like our pretty Miss Jasmine as if he was own brother to her—and they two and Miss Martineau are fairly scouring the place for that poor little tot Miss Daisy, who it seems 'as run away from home. Why, Hannah—Hannah Martin, woman! are you daft?"
For Hannah had rushed from the shop while Mrs. Jones was speaking, leaving her neglected paper and two or three pence behind her on the counter. A few moments later the good soul was knocking at Miss Martineau's door, and very soon Primrose and Arthur Noel too were in possession of all the facts that Hannah could give them.
"Oh, Hannah! it is so good to think you were the one to save her and find her," said Primrose, as she kissed her old nurse, and shed some thankful tears.