Mr. Danesfield looked after her as she walked away.
"Poor, proud young thing!" he said to himself. "Life will be a tussle for her, or I am much mistaken. She is really growing wonderfully nice-looking, too. How she flushed up when I said she was presentable—poor child! poor child! That mother of theirs might have done something to provide for those girls—lady-like girls—distinguished-looking. I expect the mother was a weak, poor soul. Well, I hope Miss Martineau will think of something. I must call and see Miss Martineau; 'pon my word I don't know what to suggest for the children to do."
When Primrose arrived at Miss Martineau's, that lady was just dismissing the last of her morning pupils. She was standing on her steps in her neat brown alpaca dress, over which she wore a large black apron of the same material with a bib to it. This apron had capacious pockets, which at the present moment were stuffed with her pupils' French exercises. On her head she had an antique-looking cap, made of black lace and rusty black velvet, and ornamented with queer little devices of colored beads.
She was delighted to see Primrose, and took her at once into her little sitting-room. "Now my dear, you will stay and have dinner with me. You don't mind having no meat, dear. My middle-day meal to-day consists of a salad and a rice soufflée. You are welcome to share it with me, Primrose."
"Thank you," said Primrose, "but I am not at all hungry. If you do not mind, I will talk to you while you dine. Miss Martineau, I have come to ask your advice."
Miss Martineau came up instantly and kissed the young girl on both cheeks.
"My love, I am delighted. It gives me the sincerest pleasure to give counsel to the young and inexperienced. Have you come from Mrs. Ellsworthy, dearest?"
"Not at all," answered Primrose. "Mrs. Ellsworthy has nothing to say to me. She is only a friend, nothing more. Miss Martineau, we have discovered that we cannot live on our little income. Please will you tell me how we can add to it, so that we three can keep together?"
"Keep together—impossible!" replied Miss Martineau. "There is nothing whatever before you, Primrose, but to face the inevitable. The inevitable means that you must break up your home—that you obtain, through the kind patronage of the Ellsworthys, a situation as governess, or companion, or something of that sort—and that the little girls, Jasmine and Daisy, are put into a good school for the orphan daughters of military men. The Ellsworthys will use their influence toward this end. They are very kind—they have taken up your cause warmly. Primrose, my dear, it sounds hard, but plain speaking is best. You must be parted from your sisters. This is inevitable. You have got to face it."
"It is not inevitable," answered Primrose—then she paused, and her face turned very white.