"Two letters," said Daisy, holding them up in her hand; "actually two letters; one for Primrose—oh, yes! of course that must be from Mr. Danesfield; and one for Jasmine—oh! Jasmine's is such a funny-looking letter, quite thick and interesting, and with a darling little picture on the back. What can the picture be?—oh! some little bells, and The Joy-bell written over them."

"Give it to me," said Jasmine, her face suddenly turning crimson. "Oh, Daisy! why do you examine my letters so curiously? This was meant to be quite private. Oh, oh, oh! how my fingers tremble."

"We are all alone, you know, Jasmine," said Daisy; "dear Primrose is not in. She went to her continual reading nearly an hour ago. Dear Primrose! she sometimes looks quite pale and tired. Perhaps the letter is about our secret, Jasmine; please do read it to me—please do."

But by this time Jasmine had torn the envelope open, and was oblivious to all Daisy's comments. Her eager eyes devoured the contents of an official-looking sheet of paper, then she danced up and down the room, then she tossed the paper up to the ceiling, and finally caught Daisy in her arms, and covered her little face with kisses.

"Oh, Daisy, it's too good!—I'm so happy, I could almost cry. Daisy, darling, he wants to see me about my story—he thinks it's very fine—he says there are masterly bits in it—I'm to go and see him as soon as possible."

"Him?" repeated Daisy; "but who is he, Jasmine?"

"He's the editor of one of the most powerful of all our magazines," said Jasmine; "the magazine is called The Joy-bell—hasn't it a delicious title? Oh, Daisy! I must go at once to see him."

"Take me with you," said Daisy, coming up close to her sister—"take me with you, darling, dear Jasmine. I'm much better, I've nearly lost my cough, and the spring is coming; the air feels quite warm to-day—do take me, Jasmine, for it is our own secret, and then, after you've got your money—for I suppose you'll get a lot of money—we can both tell Primrose to-night."

Jasmine hesitated, but the sun was shining warmly, and Daisy's little face was very pleading—Jasmine felt so happy at this moment that she greatly longed to give happiness.

"Yes," she said, suddenly, "I don't suppose Primrose will really mind, and you must wrap up well; only there's just one thing, Daisy, we'll have to call for Poppy. I would not on any account go to the publisher's without Poppy."

As Jasmine and Daisy were hurrying quickly down the street to catch the first omnibus which went in the direction of the Edgware Road, Daisy suddenly clutched her sister's hand, the color left her pretty face, and she began to hurry forward at a very rapid pace.

"What is the matter, Daisy?" said Jasmine: "you have quite hurt my hand; has anything frightened you? have you seen any one?"

"Oh, it's nothing—I mean I'm subject to starts," said poor little Daisy, in a sad voice. "I'll be better when I get into the omnibus with you, Jasmine; and please, Jasmine, may I sit very close to you? and may I hold your hand?"

"You poor little darling!" said Jasmine, affectionately, "you are not a bit strong yet—you must have some more chemical food; I am told there is nothing so good for starts as chemical food."

Daisy gave another start and a very gentle sigh. She knew well in her little breast that no amount of chemical food would take away the terror which inspired her when she saw the face of Mr. Dove. She had seen him just now, although Jasmine had not—he was standing with several other men at the corner of the road, and his blood-shot eyes had seemed to look through her, and as she passed by he had raised his hand, and shaken it at her in a truly menacing manner.

Dove had not forgotten Daisy, as Daisy had fondly hoped. Daisy Mainwaring meant to him a certain amount of money. Dove was not the sort of man to allow the chance of gaining money dishonestly to go by. As to earning money, and coming by it as the sweet fruits of honest toil, that did not at all suit his idea. When he saw the child going out with her sister he recollected, with much pleasure, that quarter-day was about due. Feeling in his own pockets, he confessed they were unpleasantly light and empty, and then he wondered if he might find any agreeable little pickings............