“She sure is!” fervently agreed Harry; and Cornelia, half-way up the stairs, stopped suddenly and brushed away two tears that plumped unannounced into her tired eyes. “Gee! That’s some dress,” went on Harry. “Put it all over Clytie, won’t you? Glad you got it kid! You deserve it”; and Harry bolted into the bathroom after this unusual display of affection, and slammed the door after him, while Louise came like a young whirlwind into Cornelia’s arms to hug and kiss her. “And what are you going to wear, Nellie?” the little girl asked anxiously when they were resting together on the bed. “You know you must look just right, because you’re the centre of it all, the head, kind of, you know—the—the—well—_more_ than mother, because you’re young and have to look stylish. We’ve got to have that girl understand you know; and clothes do make such a lot of difference—to a girl like that! I’ll tell you a secret if you won’t feel bad. I was planning to stay mostly in the kitchen so she wouldn’t see my old blue challis. I thought she wouldn’t have much opinion of us if Carey’s little sister dressed like that at a party. But now, _now_ I can come out and have a good time.” “Darling!” Cornelia patted her tenderly on the shoulder. “I’m so sorry you’ve been troubled about your clothes. I ought to have got at them sooner, and not made you worry. I think I’ll wear my white rajah silk with the burnt-orange trimmings. I made it after a French model, and I always liked it. It’s right to have everything pretty and neat, of course, but I hope I haven’t made you too conscious about such things. You know it really doesn’t matter about clothes if we look clean and neat and behave well. I think we’ve been placing too high a value on looks anyway. Of course looks do count a little; but they are, after all, only a trifle beside real worth; and, if we can’t impress that girl with our refinement by our actions, why, we can put on all the clothes in the universe, and we won’t be able to do it any better.” “I know it,” answered the little girl wisely; “only it is nice to have everything nice this time, because really and truly, Nellie, it’s going to be just awful hard to have that girl here. I—I—just kind of _hate_ her! It seems as if she’s going to spoil this whole nice party.” Cornelia had been stifling some such sinking of heart herself as she stood looking at the pretty table and thought of the insignificant little flirt who had brought it all into being, but now she roused to the danger. “Dearie! We mustn’t feel that way! We just mustn’t. You know we’ve been praying, and now we’ve got to trust. And, after all, I don’t suppose she is so very formidable. We’ll just be polite and try to forget she is any different from Grace Kendall.”