Noel was out of town, and was unable to interest himself in her behalf, and so it came to pass that the slender purse could not supply the modest needs, and Jasmine was much too proud, and too determined to help herself, to write to Primrose for money.
These were hard days for the little girl--days which were to prove the stuff she was made of to the very uttermost--but doubtless they gave her, as all anxious days of pain bravely borne do, a valuable experience and a depth of character which she could not otherwise have acquired.
The lesson she was to learn, however, was a painful one, and its sharpness was to be felt very quickly.
Jasmine's hope of hopes lay in her beloved manuscript.

That story, the first-fruits of her young genius, must surely make her purse bulky, and must wreathe her little brow with laurels.

That story, too, was to refund poor Poppy the money she had lent, and was to enable Jasmine to live in comfort during her sister's absence.
One day, about ten days after Primrose had gone to Rosebury, Jasmine stood by the windows of the Palace Beautiful to watch the postman.

He was coming up the street, and Jasmine greatly, greatly hoped he would stop at Miss Egerton's and drop into the letter-box, perhaps, a letter from Primrose, and more delightful still, a roll of proofs of her dear story.

The postman, however, passed on his way, and gave his loud rat-tat at the doors to right and the doors to left, but neither sounded the bell nor gave his double-knock at Miss Egerton's door.
Jasmine sighed deeply, and retiring from the window, sat down to her frugal breakfast.