"My dear child, not much—very little, scarcely anything. 'Pon my word, I am sorry for you, but your entire capital does not amount to quite two hundred pounds."
Primrose received this information calmly.
"Thank you," she said—"I just wanted to know from yourself. Now, I have one other question to ask you, and then I will go. My sisters and I have thirty pounds a year to live on. By drawing a little on our capital, say, taking ten or fifteen pounds a year from it, can we live, Mr. Danesfield?"
Mr. Danesfield rose from his seat, and coming over to Primrose, laid his hand on her shoulder—
"Live! my poor, dear child; you and your sisters would starve. No, Miss Mainwaring, there is nothing for you three girls to do but to turn to and earn your living. Your friends, I doubt not, will help, and you must take their help. I shall be delighted to give advice. Now, my dear child, my trap is at the door, and I must go. Good morning—good morning."
CHAPTER IX.
A STRANGE LETTER AND A PROPOSED VISIT TO LONDON.
Primrose was always direct in her movements—she made up her mind quickly; from her earliest childhood she was in the habit of acting with decision.
After her short interview with Mr. Danesfield she went straight home, and without paying any attention to the clear voice of her pet Daisy, who called to her from the garden, or to Jasmine's little impatient—"Sister, I want you to help me to arrange the trimming on my new black skirt," she ran upstairs, and locked herself into her mother's room.