“And our poet—­she makes poetry about the Pink at home,” said Daisy.  “Oh, dear!” she continued, giving a deep sigh, “I can’t see the Persian kitten anywhere.  I do hope what Miss Martineau said is not true.”

“What did she say, my dear?” asked the lady of Shortlands.

“Oh, a lot of nonsense—­that this was a great house, and we were to sit on chairs, and not speak unless you spoke to us, and we were not to play with the Persian kitten, nor see the dogs.  She said you were a very grand lady, and that was the proper way to go on—­we didn’t agree with her, did we, Jasmine?”

“No, of course we didn’t,” said Jasmine; “we knew better.”

“We said you were a romp,” continued Daisy.  “You seemed like it in our garden.  I wouldn’t have come if I thought you were one of those ladies who wanted little girls to sit on chairs.  Oh! do say you are a romp.”

Here there was a laugh heard behind them, and Mr. Ellsworthy came up and joined the group.  He greeted the girls kindly, and very soon discovered that their father had been the old acquaintance whom he had known of the name.  Then he and Primrose went off together, and Mrs. Ellsworthy took the two young girls’ hands.

“My darling,” she said, “with the single exception of my only son, Frankie, who is at present at school, I am the greatest romp in existence.  Now let us come out into the sunshine and enjoy ourselves.”

The few hours the girls spent at Shortlands passed only too quickly for Jasmine and Daisy.  Mrs. Ellsworthy laid herself out to be charming, and no one could be more charming than she when she chose.  She had naturally a good deal of sympathy, and taking her cue from the little ones, she entered into their lives, and became one with them.  Jasmine and Daisy became quite merry.  An indiscriminating observer would have said:  “How shocking to hear such merry laughter—­their mother has only been dead a month.”  But Mrs. Ellsworthy had far too kind a heart to do these children such an injustice.  She knew that the dark lines under Jasmine’s bright eyes were caused by the passion of a great grief; but she also knew that with such a nature sunshine must follow storm.  Daisy in the midst of her play, too, began suddenly to cry.

“What is the matter, my little one?” asked the lady of the house.  The child put her arms round her neck, and whispered through sobs:  “I am so happy now; but I know I’ll be miserable bye-and-bye.  I’ll want so badly to tell mamma about you, and mamma won’t be there.”

Primrose was also serenely happy—­she was glad to hear her sisters’ laughter, and she liked to walk about the beautiful place, and to feel the soft summer air on her cheeks.

The village of Rosebury lay low; but Shortlands stood on rising ground, and the more bracing air did Primrose good.  When she saw how happy Mrs. Ellsworthy made her sisters she forgave her for not calling on her mother.