“Arrah, then, my dear!” cried Kathleen, “it isn’t me you’ll see at school again to-day.  It’s gloating and fussing over my clothes I will be—­portioning out those I mean to give to others, and trying on the ones that will suit me.  You can go to your horrid, stupid lessons if you like, but it won’t be Kathleen O’Hara who will accompany you.  Perhaps the poor tired one would like to have a pleasant afternoon in my bedroom.  Oh, glory be to goodness! we will have a time.  Isn’t it worth anything to see that blessed trunk?  My eyes can almost pierce through the deal and see the lovely garments folded away inside.”

Alice took no notice; she marched on to her room.  Kathleen followed her.

“The boys shall bring it up for me immediately after dinner,” she said.  “I sha’n’t be going out again until I go to Mrs. Weldon’s.  I expect people will open their eyes when they see me to-night.”

“You must please yourself, of course,” said Alice.  “For my part, I am extremely sorry that the trunk has come.  You were settling down a little, and were not quite so objectionable as at first.”

“Thanks awfully, darling,” said Kathleen, dropping a mock curtsy.

“Not quite so objectionable,” continued Alice in a calm voice.  “But now, with all these silly gewgaws, you will be worse titan ever.  But please clearly understand that I do not want any of your ornaments.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, darling; they were not made for you.  I force my treasures on nobody.”

“I wouldn’t wear them if you were to give them.  I hope I have some proper pride.”

“Pride of the most proper sort,” said Kathleen, dancing before her.

“And I do hope, also, that you won’t make yourself a merry-andrew or a figure of fun at the Weldons’ to-night.  It will be in extremely bad taste.  We are not going to have a large party—­just one or two of the mistresses and little Ruth Craven, who, although she is a foundationer, seems to be a very nice sort of child.  It would be in the worst taste possible to wear anything but the simplest clothes.”

“All right,” said Kathleen.  “If I am a chatterbox, you are about the greatest preacher, with the most long-winded sermons, that ever entered a house.  You are a perfect plague to me, and that is the truth, Alice Tennant.”

Alice poured some water into her basin, washed her hands, and went downstairs.

“Mother,” she said, “I am obliged to be out the whole afternoon.  The scholarship examination takes place in six weeks now, and if I am to have any chance of getting through I must not idle a single moment.  I grieve to say that a box of finery has arrived for Kathleen—­most unsuitable, for she has plenty of clothes.  I do trust, mother, you will keep her in tow a little this afternoon, and not allow her to make a show of herself.”

“You are not very kind to Kathleen,” said Mrs. Tennant.  “Why shouldn’t the child enjoy her pretty things?  I like to see girls nicely dressed.  It is a great trial to me to be obliged to deny you the ribbons and frills and laces which most girls of your age possess.”