One day, about ten days after Primrose had gone to Rosebury, Jasmine stood by the windows of the Palace Beautiful to watch the postman.  He was coming up the street, and Jasmine greatly, greatly hoped he would stop at Miss Egerton’s and drop into the letter-box, perhaps, a letter from Primrose, and more delightful still, a roll of proofs of her dear story.  The postman, however, passed on his way, and gave his loud rat-tat at the doors to right and the doors to left, but neither sounded the bell nor gave his double-knock at Miss Egerton’s door.  Jasmine sighed deeply, and retiring from the window, sat down to her frugal breakfast.  She looked pale, and her eyes were not as bright and starry as usual.  Presently she took out her purse and looked at its contents.  This was Thursday.  She had dressed a dinner-table on Monday, and had received seven and sixpence.  Her purse now contained three shillings, and she certainly could not accuse herself of any extravagance in the matter of diet.

“This will never do,” she said to herself.  “I believe if I do not get any more money I shall be obliged to apply to Primrose, and it was only last night I heard from dear old Rose saying how glad she was that I was able to support myself.  She said Daisy’s illness had cost a great deal, and we must all economize in every possible manner for some time.  Dear darling old Primrose, I will not ask her to help me—­I will manage for myself.  Now how shall I do it?  I am afraid those ladies did not care for the star arrangement of flowers which I made at that last house.  I thought them lovely, peeping out through their dark green leaves, but I heard Mrs. Lee whispering to Mrs. Mansell, ‘How peculiar! do you quite like it?’ and then Mrs. Mansell said nothing more about my dressing her dinner-table.  Her dinner-party was to have been to-day, and she almost promised to have me when I arrived in the morning.  Well, there is no use thinking of that; I cannot swell my purse in that manner this day, that is very evident.  Oh, dear! oh, dear! what shall I do?”

Here a sudden thought came to Jasmine.  Under its influence her cheeks flushed, and her eyes began to shine.

“Why, of course,” she exclaimed; “how very silly of me to forget!—­my hundred copies of The Joy-bell ought to have arrived by now.  Yes, of course they ought, and perhaps I shall be able to sell some of them.  I have no doubt Mrs. Dredge would buy a couple if Poppy asked her and perhaps Mrs. Mortlock and Miss Slowcum would also like to see my first story in print.  Yes, of course, I can sell a few copies.  Bridget said she would buy one, and she said she had two cronies who would be sure to take a copy each.  Yes, I expect I shall make a few shillings by the sale of The Joy-bell to-day, and that will keep me going fine.  Oh, dear! the very moment I have earned a little money by them I must send a copy down to Daisy.  Won’t the darling like to show my words of genius to Primrose?  I’ll run downstairs this minute, and ask Bridget if she has not got a parcel for me.”