"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."