"Oh, that one," repeated Jasmine--"I thought that one a little vulgar.
I only made it up to please you, Daisy. Primrose, don't you notice
what a lot of poems there are in all the magazines, and of course,
somebody must write them. I should not be a bit surprised if I could
add to our income by writing poetry, Primrose. All the books, nearly
all the magazines and newspapers, come from London. Poppy will not be
going to London until to-morrow--I'll run round this morning and ask
her to try and find out for me which of the publishers want poems like
my 'Ode to the Swallow.' Perhaps they'd like it in the ---- _Review_;
only the ---- _Review_ is so horribly deep. My ode is deep too, for
Daisy cannot understand it. Perhaps I could send my poem about Pink to
one of the other magazines. Oh, Primrose! may I run round to Poppy,
and see if she can help us?"

Primrose smiled very faintly, and it dawned across her again in rather
a painful manner what a mere child her little sister was.

"I think I wouldn't, darling," she said. "Poppy could not really help
you about publishers. Look here, Jasmine and Daisy; here is a letter I
found in mamma's cabinet yesterday--it is directed to me, but the news
it contains is for us all; will you and Daisy go out into the garden
and read it together. You will be very much astonished when you read
the letter--poor mamma, what she must have suffered! While you are
reading I will go out. Mr. Danesfield says I may consult him, and as I
know he is a wise man, I will do so."

"Would you like to take my ode with you?" inquired Jasmine.

"No, not to-day, dear--if I am not in to dinner, don't wait for me."