“Oh, but my hat!” with a comical exclamation of dismay, “there’s my silly old hat has got pansies in it, and they’d look just awful with the green and pink, Eileen! What _am_ I to do, with all my things different colours, that don’t seem any of them to go together? I wonder if I’d better bring out my whole wardrobe and go through the hundred and one patterns again? Or shall I have a white-bordered thing, that is not particular and will go with just all of them? Only I’d have to start at the beginning to find it, and I’m so sick of the very sight of them. Here have I had these patterns three days, and I’ve already spent about five pounds’ worth of brain-power upon a blouse that will cost five shillings. If only you’d help, Eileen!” looking up toward the figure in the window, “instead of staring at those silly old mountains like a stuffed goose! “Eileen!”—as the dreamer took no notice—“Eileen! do you hear that I’m floundering in a sea of patterns! Your one and only sister, and you sit there like an Egyptian mummy stuffed with dried peas! “I’ll make you help—so there,”—and with a sudden movement she swept all the books of patterns into her arms and deposited them, helter-skelter, upon her sister’s head, laughing gayly at the picture of solemn-faced Eileen with the little square books scattered all around and upon her. “Now, Miss Sphinx,” she said, “do you think you could come down from the clouds for five minutes and discuss anything so distressingly earthy as clothes?” Eileen’s face broke into a very sweet smile. She had not in the least intended to be indifferent, but long before Paddy commenced consulting her she had been in the middle of composing a lovely poem about mountains and streams and birds and things, and she had not really heard any of her remarks at all. “What’s the matter, Paddy?” she asked, eyeing the scattered patterns with amusement. “Matter!” cried Paddy, “everything’s the matter! How on earth am I to select a blouse that will go with a blue dress, a green dress, a grey dress, a hat with pansies in, and a scarlet tam-o’-shanter! I’ve been worrying with those stupid patterns for days, and instead of getting any nearer a decision, I keep on thinking of something fresh that nothing seems to go with. Now it’s your turn to worry; you ought to, you know, because Charity begins at home.” “Why not have something in cream?” suggested Eileen; “it saves a lot of bother.” “Yes, and what do I look like in cream, with my sallow skin? It’s all very well for you with your ivory and roses, you look well in anything. I don’t think it was at all fair for you to have everything nice while I am burdened for life with a sallow skin and a snub nose. Cream flannel would be nearly as bad as brown holland for me, and when I wear brown holland you can’t tell where the dress ends and I begin,” and the corners of Paddy’s mischievous mouth were momentarily drawn down in great disgust.