“That Clarence is a droll chap!” he remarked confidentially.  “Bright, too!  He’d be a nice fellow if he wasn’t picked at so much.  It never does a fellow any good to be picked at,—­now does it, Miss Carr?”

“No:  I don’t think it does.”

“I say,” continued Mr. Eels, “I’ve seen you young ladies up at Hillsover, haven’t I?  Aren’t you both at the Nunnery?”

“Yes.  It’s vacation now, you know.”

“I was sure I’d seen you.  You had a room on the side next the President’s, didn’t you?  I thought so.  We fellows didn’t know your names, so we called you ‘The Real Nuns.’”

“Real Nuns?”

“Yes, because you never looked out of the window at us.  Real nuns and sham nuns,—­don’t you see?” Almost all the young ladies are sham nuns, except you, and two pretty little ones in the story above, fifth window from the end.”

“Oh, I know!” said Clover, much amused.  “Sally Alsop, you know, Katy, and Amy Erskine.  They are such nice girls!”

“Are they?” replied Mr. Eels, with the air of one who notes down names for future reference.  “Well, I thought so.  Not so much fun in them as some of the others, I guess; but a fellow likes other things as well as fun.  I know if my sister was there, I’d rather have her take the dull line than the other.”

Katy treasured up this remark for the benefit of the S. S. U. C. Mrs. Page came back just then, and Mr. Eels resumed his cane.  Nothing more was heard of Clarence that night.

Next morning Cousin Olivia fulfilled her threat of inspecting the girls’ wardrobe.  She shook her head over the simple, untrimmed merinos and thick cloth coats.

“There’s no help for it,” she said, “but it’s a great pity.  You would much better have waited, and had things fresh.  Perhaps it may be possible to match the merino, and have some sort of basque arrangement added on.  I will talk to Madame Chonfleur about it.  Meantime, I shall get one handsome thick dress for each of you, and have it stylishly made.  That, at least, you really need.”

Katy was too glad to be so easily let off to raise objections.  So that afternoon she and Clover were taken out to “choose their material,” Mrs. Page said, but really to sit by while she chose it for them.  At the dressmaker’s it was the same:  they stood passive while the orders were given, and every thing decided upon.

“Isn’t it funny!” whispered Clover; “but I don’t like it a bit, do you?  It’s just like Elsie saying how she’ll have her doll’s things made.”

“Oh, this dress isn’t mine! it’s Cousin Olivia’s!” replied Katy.  “She’s welcome to have it trimmed just as she likes!”

But when the suits came home she was forced to be pleased.  There was no over-trimming, no look of finery:  every thing fitted perfectly, and had the air of finish which they had noticed and admired in Lilly’s clothes.  Katy almost forgot that she had objected to the dresses as unnecessary.