The few hours the girls spent at Shortlands passed only too quickly for Jasmine and Daisy. Mrs. Ellsworthy laid herself out to be charming, and no one could be more charming than she when she chose. She had naturally a good deal of sympathy, and taking her cue from the little ones, she entered into their lives, and became one with them. Jasmine and Daisy became quite merry. An indiscriminating observer would have said: "How shocking to hear such merry laughter--their mother has only been dead a month." But Mrs. Ellsworthy had far too kind a heart to do these children such an injustice. She knew that the dark lines under Jasmine's bright eyes were caused by the passion of a great grief; but she also knew that with such a nature sunshine must follow storm. Daisy in the midst of her play, too, began suddenly to cry. "What is the matter, my little one?" asked the lady of the house. The child put her arms round her neck, and whispered through sobs: "I am so happy now; but I know I'll be miserable bye-and-bye. I'll want so badly to tell mamma about you, and mamma won't be there." Primrose was also serenely happy--she was glad to hear her sisters' laughter, and she liked to walk about the beautiful place, and to feel the soft summer air on her cheeks. The village of Rosebury lay low; but Shortlands stood on rising ground, and the more bracing air did Primrose good. When she saw how happy Mrs. Ellsworthy made her sisters she forgave her for not calling on her mother. Mr. Ellsworthy took a good deal of notice of Primrose, and showed her some of his pet books, and talked to her in a sensible grown-up way. Jasmine and Daisy were young for their years, but Primrose was old, and she liked to ask practical questions. Had she known Mr. Ellsworthy a little better she might have even consulted him as to the best way of laying out thirty pounds per annum, so as to cover all the expenses of three girls who wished to live as ladies; but she was both shy and reserved; and when Mr. Ellsworthy, goaded on by certain looks from his wife, referred to the subject of money, Primrose started aside from it like any frightened young fawn. The day, the happy day for all three, passed only too quickly, and it was Mrs. Ellsworthy at last who determined to plunge boldly into the heart of the subject which was uppermost in her thoughts. "Primrose," she said, taking the elder sister aside, "you must forgive me for speaking plainly to you, dear. I call you Primrose, because you do not seem to me altogether a stranger, and my husband knew your father. I may call you Primrose, may I not, love?" "Please, do," said Primrose, with that sweet smile which came only rarely to her quiet face; "I like it--it is my name. When people say Miss Mainwaring I feel--lonely."