She considered that six months' experience of the ups and
downs of London life might bear fruit in her case as well as in her
sister's.
Jasmine was supposed to be having her style formed by Miss Egerton's
daily tuitions, but Miss Egerton's words of encouragement over her
pupil's productions were decidedly meagre; and Jasmine, though she
loved her, had long ago confided to Daisy that she considered Miss
Egerton's manner had a damping effect on enthusiasm.
One bitterly cold March day Jasmine had been sitting for hours
scribbling away at her novel. Daisy petted the cat, looked over some
well-known picture-books, and finally sank back into the recesses of
one of the most comfortable chairs in the room and began to think
about the Prince.
"Don't go to sleep, Daisy," called out Jasmine presently. "I'm coming
over in a minute to consult you."
Nothing could possibly be more gratifying to Daisy than to know that
Jasmine wished to ask her advice. She accordingly roused herself,
ceased to think of the Prince, and said, in a very bright little
voice--
"I'll help you the best I can, Jasmine."
"It's just this," said Jasmine, dashing down her pen on the top of
her manuscript, and causing thereby a great blot--"it's just this,
Daisy; I've got to do something, and you have got to help me.
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