“But how does the story end, Mr. Arthur?  You have really only just begun.”

“I only know the beginning, Daisy,” said Noel, as he rose to leave.  “I have not an idea whether that Palace Beautiful will ever receive its visitors, whether that kind lady will ever be made happy, or whether that little girl will ever cease to be selfish.”

A few moments afterwards Noel went away, and poor Daisy turned her face to the wall and wept.

Of course, the very obvious moral had hit her hard, poor little maid!  Oh! if she could really only confide in Arthur—­he was so nice and strong, and he looked so contemptuously at Mr. Dove that day when he was carrying Daisy across the road to Miss Egerton’s.

“I don’t believe he would be afraid of Mr. Dove,” she whispered softly, under her breath.  “Oh dear! why am I so terribly frightened?  Why does he make my heart beat? and why do I shake so when I see him?  Well, I’ll never tell about his bringing me up the sticky sweetmeats—­of course I’ll not tell.  I promised I wouldn’t; it would be dreadful to break one’s promise.  Of course I know where people go who break their promises.  No, I promised Mr. Dove, and I must always, and always, and always keep my word; but I did not promise him that I’d stay here.  He wanted me to, and I just had it on the tip of my tongue, for I was dreadfully frightened, but he heard a noise, and he went away.  I’m so glad I didn’t promise, because the Prince says I should go and live in the Palace Beautiful.  He thinks I’m a selfish little girl.  Oh dear! how terrified I shall be, but I won’t be a selfish little girl, and keep Primrose and Jasmine away from the Palace, and break the kind lady’s heart.  I must try and write a very private little note to Mr. Dove, and tell him that though I am going away I’ll always and always keep my word about the sweeties, and I’ll always be his truest of friends, although I do fear him more than anything in the world.”

Here Primrose came in, and poor little Daisy roused herself, and tried to talk cheerfully.

“Primrose,” she said, “do you mind my writing a letter which nobody is to see?”

Primrose laughed.

“You funny pet!” she said; “if no one is to see the letter why do you trouble to write it?”

“I only mean, Primrose,” continued Daisy, “that you are not to see it, nor Jasmine, nor Miss Egerton, nor Mr. Noel.  It is to—­to somebody; but you are not to be curious, Primrose, nor to ask any questions.  It’s a most terribly important letter, and when it’s written I’m going to put it in the post myself.  I’ll go out with you, and you must turn your back when I drop it into the pillar-box.  You’ll be very happy when it’s written, Primrose, and I’m doing it for you and Jasmine, and because I won’t be a selfish little girl.”

Primrose stooped down and kissed Daisy.

“You may write your letter and post it,” she said, “and I’ll try not to be the least bit curious, Eyebright.  Now sit down and write away, you have a nice quiet hour before Jasmine comes in to tea.”