this place. It was money of hers that was put into it. We shall have
the income of that; and there might be things, perhaps, that we
should have the right to sell, or keep to furnish with. Seven and a
half per cent, on twelve thousand dollars would be nine hundred
dollars a year. If we had to pay sixteen dollars a week to board, it
would take eight hundred and thirty-two; almost the whole of it. But
perhaps we could find a place for less; and our clothes would last a
good while, I suppose."

Sylvie went through her little calculation, just as she had made it
over and over before, all by herself; she did not stop to think that
she was doing the small sum now for the enlightenment of the great
Mr. Sherrett, who calculated in millions for himself and others,
every day.

"You would hardly be comfortable in a house which you could rent for
less than--say, four hundred dollars, and that would leave very
little for your living. Perhaps I should advise you to board."

"But we could _do_ things, maybe, if we lived by ourselves, amongst
other people in small houses. We can't be _two_ things, Mr.
Sherrett, rich and poor; and it seems to me that is what we should
be trying for, if we got into a boarding-house. We should have to be
idle and ashamed. I want to take right hold. I'd like to earn
something and make it do."

Sylvie's eyes really shone. The spirit that had worked in her as a
little child, to make her think it would be nice to be a "kitchen
girl, and have a few things in boxes, and Sundays out," threw a
charm of independence and enterprise and cosy thrift over her