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So, in the eighth month of their great enterprise, the enterprise which was to show them the whole earth and the glory thereof, the three were separated. Matthew flourished in his flat in Bury Street, and, subject to the ministrations of a vigilant valet, departed each day for the city, garbed and tended into the likeness of the class into whose ranks he was determined to pass. Philip found a top room in an old building in Adam Street, a steep climb, but an airy chamber with a three-cornered view of the river. Rosina procured a bedroom which was little better than a cubicle, in a working-girl's club, thereby achieving a disagreeable but obvious respectability. Philip, having at last run to earth his friend's friend, the editor, succeeded in selling him two stories and an article, and faced the world bravely with nine guineas, paid, after many protests, in advance of publication. Rosina, at the end of her second week, parted with her coat again, and, at the beginning of the fourth, decided to give up typewriting for ever. She had what Philip lacked—a singularly robust vein of common sense—and she faced the situation without alarm but at the same time seriously, absolutely determined that under no consideration whatever would she become a drag upon Philip. One by one, she enumerated and considered the various means by which a young woman of moderate ability and rather too prepossessing an appearance might make a living in London. She decided to apply for a position in an office, and, after a prolonged study of various advertisements, she started out one morning with a list in her hand. To a certain extent she was prepared to sacrifice her independence. The idea of spending the day in an office was distasteful to her, but it was obviously inevitable. She put away regrets and faced the situation cheerfully.