“We have no guardian, and we can go if we please, and we have really made up our minds to go,” replied that perverse young lady.

As a last resource Mr. Danesfield was appealed to, but he, being an old bachelor and not quite at home with girls, although in his heart he was very fond of them, declined to interfere.

“I gave Primrose Mainwaring some uncalled-for advice when she came to see me the other morning,” he said.  “She is perfectly at liberty to choose her own life, and I, for one, am not going to add to her troubles by needlessly opposing her.  Very likely the girls will get on in London—­they are spirited girls, and they may do better for themselves by struggling for independence than by living with the Ellsworthys.  I always did maintain that work hurts no one.”

So Primrose carried out her little plans, and made all arrangements, and her friends, when they found she would not yield, came round her, and began to counsel her as to the best place to go to.

Mrs. Ellsworthy was, after all, the first to forgive the girls.  She felt very indignant, and stayed away for more than a week; but one evening, when the day’s packing was over, and the three, rather tired but quite cheerful and full of hope, were sitting down to their tea, her carriage was seen to draw up to the door, and the little lady, bustling and good-natured as ever, entered the drawing-room.

“My dears,” she said, holding out a hand each to Primrose and Daisy, but imprinting a kiss on her favorite Jasmine’s brow, “my dears—­Oh, of course, I am still very angry!  I see, too, that you are at that horrid packing; but if you must go, there is a Mrs. Moore—­such a good soul, a widow, and quite a lady—­indeed, I may say highly connected.  She lives in Kensington, and I have written to her.  My dears, she would be charmed to take you all into her family.  She would give you comforts—­oh!  I don’t mean luxuries, but the necessary comforts that young girls who are using their brains require.  She would feed you well, and chaperone you when you went out, and, in short, see to you all round.  I know her house so well.  It is very pretty—­indeed, charming—­and she would take you in for a pound a week between you.  She would give you board and lodging, and all you require, for a pound a week.  I hope, my dear Primrose, you don’t consider that too dear.  It is, I believe”—­here Mrs. Ellsworthy coughed slightly—­“considered cheap for Kensington.”

This torrent of words, poured forth with rapidity and yet with distinctness, rather astonished the girls.  They were afraid they had lost Mrs. Ellsworthy for their friend, and they, every one of them, hailed this overture of kindness with delight.  Innocent Primrose never even suspected that a pound a week for the lodging and maintenance of three girls was at all unusually cheap.  She little guessed that Mrs. Ellsworthy had written to her special friend, Mrs. Moore, telling her the girls’ story, begging of her to give them a home, to provide them with every comfort, and even luxury, and asking her to look to her, Mrs. Ellsworthy, for the necessary payment.