BREAD AND BUTTER.
Primrose, her head a little more erect than usual, her step firm, and
a proud bright light in her eyes, went quickly down the little
rambling village street. The plain black dress she wore set off her
yellow hair and extremely fair complexion to the best advantage. She
had never looked sweeter or more independent than at this moment,
when, for the first time in her young life, she was about to ask for
help.
Mr. Danesfield was not so busy this morning, and he saw his young
visitor without delay.
"Sit down, my dear," he said; "I am very pleased to see you. You want
to ask for my advice? I will give it with the greatest pleasure."
Primrose raised her head slowly. "I have been thinking over what you
said yesterday," she began. "As it is quite impossible for my sisters
and me to live on our little income, even with the help of what you
have in the bank, we must try to help ourselves, must we not?"
"This is a brave thought, my dear--of course you must help
yourselves, and you will be none the worse for doing so."
"We must earn money," continued Primrose. "How can girls like us, who
are not educated--for I know we are not _really_ educated--add to our
incomes?"
Mr. Danesfield knit his brows. "Child," he said, "you ask me a
puzzler. I have no children of my own, and I know very little about
young folk. Of one thing, however, I am quite certain; Daisy can earn
no money, nor can Jasmine. You, Primrose, might with some difficulty
get a little place as a nursery governess; you are a nice,
presentable-looking girl, my dear."
Primrose flushed, and the tears, wrung from great pain, came into her
eyes.
"There is just one thing," she said, in a tremulous voice; "whatever
happens, we three girls won't be parted. On that point I have quite
firmly made up my mind."
Mr. Danesfield again knit his brows, and this time he fidgeted
uneasily on his chair.
"Look here, Primrose," he said: "I am an old bachelor, and I don't
know half nor a quarter the ways in which a woman may earn her living.
I have always been told that a woman is a creature of resources. Now
it is a well-known fact that an old bachelor has no resources. You go
and put your question to Miss Martineau, my dear. Miss Martineau is a
kind soul--'pon my word, now, a very kind soul--and she has managed
wonderfully to exist herself on absolutely nothing. You go to Miss
Martineau, Primrose, and get some secrets from her. Everything in my
power you may depend on my doing. I will exert my interest, and my
purse is at your service."
Here Primrose got up.
"Good-bye, Mr. Danesfield," she said. "I know you mean to be very
kind, but we three must keep together, and we must be independent."
Then she left the office, and went again down the street.
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.
"It is not inevitable," she repeated, "for this reason because neither
you nor Mrs. Ellsworthy have the smallest control over my sisters or
myself. I asked for your advice, but if this is the best you can give,
it is useless. Mrs. Ellsworthy never cared to know my mother, and she
is not going to part my mother's children now. Good-bye, Miss
Martineau--no, I am not hungry, I have a headache. Oh, I am not
offended--people mean to be kind, but there are things which one
cannot bear. No, Miss Martineau, the inevitable course you and Mrs.
Ellsworthy have been kind enough to sketch out, my sisters and I will
certainly not adopt."