"It's on the table," repeated Daisy. "Will you open it, Primrose? I'd
like to see what's inside."

"Oh, there'll be nothing very pretty inside, darling; it is probably a
postal order for our quarter's money."

"Yes, but let me see it, Primrose."

Primrose moved slowly to the table, took up the letter, and opened it.

"It's just as I said, Daisy," she remarked, "only, no--it's not a
postal order, it's a cheque. I must write my name on the back, and
take it to the Metropolitan Bank to cash to-morrow."

"Let me see you writing your name on the back, please, Primrose," said
Daisy, in a queer, constrained little voice.

Primrose smiled to herself at the child's caprice but, taking up a
pen, she put her signature across the back of the cheque.

"May I take it in my hand, Primrose?" said Daisy. "Oh, thank you! My
hand shakes, doesn't it? but that's because I'm so dreadfully subject
to starts. Isn't it funny, Primrose, to think that this little paper
should mean a lot of golden sovereigns? Doesn't it make you feel rich
to have it, Primrose?"

"It makes me feel that with it and the help of my weekly salary we
shall be able to pay for our bread and butter, Daisy."

Daisy turned ghastly white.