"Yes it is," said Miss Vaughan, pursing up her mouth so that it looked like a red flannel button. But Mr. Vergoe was right--Miss Eileen Vaughan in Camberwell was Nellie Jaggs. Jenny soon found that out when they lived together, and wrote a postcard to Mr. Vergoe to tell him so. "But why must she be Jenny Pearl?" asked Mrs. Raeburn. "Although, mind, I don't say it isn't a very good name," she added, remembering it was her own conjunction. "It's done," Mr. Vergoe insisted. "More flowery--I suppose--so to speak." So Jenny Raeburn became Jenny Pearl, and her health was drunk and her success wished. A few weeks afterward she stood on Euston platform, with a queer feeling, half-way between sickness and breathlessness, and was met by Madame Aldavini with Eileen and two older girls, and bundled into a reserved compartment. Very soon she was waving a handkerchief to her mother and May, already scarcely visible in the murk of a London fog. Life had begun. Chapter IX: _Life, Art and Love_ Eileen Vaughan was, of course, perfectly familiar to Jenny, but the two other girls who were to be her companions for several weeks had to be much observed during the first half-hour of the journey north. Madame Aldavini was in a first-class compartment, as she wanted to be alone in order to work out on innumerable sheets of paper the arrangement of a new ballet. So the Aldavini Quartette shared between them the four corners of a third-class compartment. Jenny felt important to the world, when she read on the slip pasted to the window: "Reserved for Aldavini's Quartette, Euston to Glasgow." It was written in looking-glass writing, to be sure, but that only made the slow deciphering of it the more delightful. However, it was read clearly at last, and Jenny turned round once more to look at her companions. Immediately opposite was Valerie Duval--a French girl with black fountains of hair, with full red lips and a complexion that darkened from ivory to warm Southern roses when the blood coursed to her cheeks. Her eyes glowed under heavy brown lids as she talked very sweetly in a contralto French accent. Soon she took Jenny on her knees and said: "You will tell me all your secrets--yes?" To which Jenny scoffingly answered: "Secrets? I'm not one for secrets." "But you will confide to me all your _passions_, your loves,--yes?" "Love?" said Jenny, looking round over her shoulder at Valerie. "Love's silly." Valerie smiled. The other new friend was Winnie Ambrose--raspberries and cream and flaxen hair and dimpled chin and upper lip curling and a snub nose. She was one of those girls who never suggest the presence of stays, who always wear white blouses of crepe de chine, cut low round a plump neck. They have bangles strung on their arms, and each one possesses a locket containing the inadequate portrait of an inadequate young man. But Winnie was _very_ nice, always ready for a joke.