But it could not be done, for, as I have said, money was not plentiful in the house at Putney, and there was always the boy to be thought of, and also there was Nannie’s education to finish. To let Rosalind join an expensive art-class would mean being without Miss Temple, and Mrs. Mackenzie felt that to do that would be to put a great wrong upon little Nannie, for which she would justly be able to reproach her all her life long. "It would not do, my dear," she said to Rosalind, when her elder daughter was one day holding forth on the glories which might one day be hers if only she could get her foot upon this, the lowest rung of the ladder by which she would fain climb to fame and fortune; "and really I don’t see the sense or reason of your being so anxious to follow art as a profession. I am sure you paint very well. That little sketch of wild roses you did last week was exquisite; indeed, I showed it to Miss Dumerique when I was looking over her new art-studio in Bond Street. She said it would be charming painted on a thrush’s-egg ground for a milking-stool or a tall table, or used for a whole suite of bedroom or boudoir furniture. I’m sure, my dear, you might make quite an income----" "Did Miss Dumerique _offer_ to do one--to let me do any work of that kind for her?" Rosalind broke in impatiently. "No, she did not," Mrs. Mackenzie admitted, "but----" "But, depend upon it, she is at work on the idea long before this," cried Rosalind. She knew Miss Dumerique, and had but small faith in any income from that quarter, several of her most cherished designs having _suggested_ ideas to that gifted lady. "If I only had twenty pounds, twenty pounds," Rosalind went on, "it would give me such a help, such a lift I should learn so much if I could spend twenty pounds; and it’s such a little, only the price of the dress Mrs. Arlington had on the other day, and she said it was so cheap--’Just a cheap little gown, my dear, to wear in the morning.’ Oh! if only I had the price of that gown." "Rosalind, my dear," cried Mrs. Mackenzie, "don’t say that--it sounds so like envy, and envy is a hateful quality." "Yes, I know it is, but I do want twenty pounds so badly," answered Rosalind in a hopeless tone. Mrs. Mackenzie began to sob weakly. "If I could give it to you, Rosalind, you know I would," she wailed, "but I haven’t got it. I work and work and work and strain every nerve to give you the advantages; ay, and more than the advantages that I had when I was your age. But I can’t give you what I haven’t got--it’s unreasonable to ask it or to expect it." "I didn’t either ask or expect it," said Rosalind; but she said it under her breath, and felt that, after all, her mother was right--she could not give what she had not got.