"I won't keep you very long, Mr. Danesfield," began Primrose, in a
quick and rather nervous manner for her.

Mr. Danesfield was always the soul of politeness, however irritable he
might feel.

"Sit down, my dear young lady," he said; "I am delighted to see you,
and I can give you exactly five minutes."

"I want to ask you two questions," began Primrose. "The questions are
short. They are about money; and you understand all about that."

"Not all, my dear girl--money is far too great a theme to be wholly
comprehended by one single individual."

Primrose tapped her foot impatiently--then, after a brief pause, she
raised her clear brown eyes, and looked full at the banker.

"How much money have we in the bank, Mr. Danesfield?"

"My dear child, not much--very little, scarcely anything. 'Pon my
word, I am sorry for you, but your entire capital does not amount to
quite two hundred pounds."

Primrose received this information calmly.

"Thank you," she said--"I just wanted to know from yourself. Now, I
have one other question to ask you, and then I will go. My sisters and
I have thirty pounds a year to live on. By drawing a little on our
capital, say, taking ten or fifteen pounds a year from it, can we