The meal proceeded, and very dull it was; nor was the fare appetizing, for the tea was weak and the bread was stale. The three young faces, so fresh from the country and from home, began to reflect the general dulness. Mrs. Flint always made it a rule never to speak except when obliged--Daisy was nearly asleep, Primrose felt a dreadful lump in her throat, and Jasmine's dark curly head was bent low, and her bright eyes were not seen under their long lashes, for she was very well aware that they were full of tears. She was a most impulsive creature, however, quick and variable in her moods, unselfish in her character. Suddenly it dawned upon her that it was not fair to the rest of the party that she should be so dull. She had always been considered the sunbeam at home; why should she not try to become the sunbeam of Penelope Mansion? "I know what will do it," she exclaimed, jumping from her seat, and nearly upsetting her own tea and Daisy's. "Of course, how silly of me!--I know what will alter things directly." Then she flew out of the room, returning the next moment with Mrs. Ellsworthy's great basket of fruit and flowers. "Primrose," she said, "mightn't we share these with the ladies? They are all quite fresh from the country. Oh yes, of course we may share them. Mrs. Flint, which will you have, some flowers, a bunch of grapes, or a peach?" Mrs. Flint selected a good-sized bunch of grapes with a placid smile, and a "Thank you, Miss Jasmine"--Mrs. Mortlock also took grapes, Miss Slowcum selected flowers, and Mrs. Dredge partook of a peach with great relish, calling it, as she did so, a "sweet reminiscence of the blooming country." After this little incident the ladies of Penelope Mansion and the Mainwaring girls became quite friendly; nevertheless the three cried themselves to sleep that night. CHAPTER XVII. ESCORTED BY MISS SLOWCUM. "Within the house at least," remarked Poppy Jenkins, "it ain't what we dreamt of." She was standing the next morning in the room where the three sisters had slept--it was early, only five o'clock in the morning, but this was Poppy's London hour for rising. Jasmine was sitting up in bed and regarding her earnestly, Primrose was also awake, but Daisy slept like a cherub. "It ain't what we dreamt of," continued Poppy--"it's work, and it's dirt, and it's dust, and it's smuts. Oh, my word! the smuts is enough to turn one crazy. Nothing is white here, as you calls white in the country--speckled is more the word. No, no. Penelope Mansion is, taking it all in all, a biting disappointment." "Well Poppy, Penelope Mansion is not the whole of London," said Jasmine, in a rather quavering, but would-be wise voice.