“London,” said Primrose, in a somewhat sententious voice, has “points of the compass, like any other place.  It has its north and its south, its east and its west.  The west, I have been told, is the aristocratic and expensive quarter, so of course we won’t go there.  In the east, the miserably poor and dirty people live—­we won’t trouble them—­therefore our choice must lie between the south and the north.  On the whole, I am inclined to try the north side of London.”

     “For dark and true and tender is the North,”

quoted Jasmine with enthusiasm.  “By all means, Rose, we will go northwards, but how shall we go?”

“We’ll inquire at the post-office just round this corner,” answered Primrose, with decision.

Accordingly, having received some rather lucid instructions the girls found themselves in a few moments in an omnibus going towards Holloway.  About noon they were landed there, and then their search began.  Oh, the weariness of that long day!  Oh, the painful experience of the three!  They knew nothing about London prices—­they had not an idea whether they were being imposed upon or not.

“On one point we have quite made up our minds,” said Jasmine, sturdily; “we won’t go back to the Mansion until we have found rooms.”

The truth of Mrs. Dredge’s prophecy became only too apparent.  All the apartments that were bright and clean and cheery were quite too expensive for Primrose’s slender purse.  At last she came to a resolution.

“Girls,” she said, “we must take rooms that look dirty, and make them clean.  We have at least been taught how to polish, and how to scrub, and how to clean.  You know, Jasmine, how shocked Miss Martineau was when she saw you one day with a pair of gloves on down on your knees polishing the drawing-room grate at Rosebury.  You said you liked to do it.  How distressed she was! and how that grate did shine!”

“Don’t let us talk about Rosebury just now,” said Jasmine, with a quiver in her voice.  “Yes, Primrose darling, of course we can make our own rooms clean—­we can even re-paper the walls, and we can whitewash the ceilings.  Now we know exactly what to do.  At the very next house where we see ‘Apartments to Let,’ we’ll ask for dirty rooms, then of course we’ll get them cheap.”

“Those attics that we saw at that last house?” questioned Primrose, thoughtfully.  “They were rather large, and not very dark.  If we took down that paper, and put up a fresh one, and if we whitened the ceilings and scrubbed the floors, why, those rooms might do.  They were not very expensive for London—­only twelve shillings a week.”

“A frightful rent!” said Jasmine.  “No wonder the people here look careworn, and pinched, and old.  We’ll go back to that house, Primrose.  On the whole, the rooms may suit us.  What is the landlady’s name?—­Oh, Mrs. Dove.  We’ll go back to Mrs. Dove and take her rooms.”