Just then Alice strolled into the room.  She looked rather nice; she wore a very pretty pink muslin blouse, which suited her well.  Her hair was neatly arranged; her face was calm.  She stood before Kathleen.

“I wish—­” she said suddenly.

Kathleen raised her head.

“And I wish you wouldn’t stand between me and the lamp.  Don’t you see that I am reading?”

“I want you to stop reading.  I have something to say.”

“Indeed!”

Kathleen longed to be very rude, but she thought of her delightful plan so close at hand, and refrained.

“I must humor her if I can by any possibility keep my temper,” was her thought.  Then aloud:  “What is it you want?  I hope you will be very quick, for I am rather sleepy and intend to go to bed soon.”

“I hope you won’t do it again, that’s all.”

“Do what again?” asked Kathleen.

“Spend your money on buying food for us.  We are not so poor as all that.  My mother is paid by your father to give you your meals; your father doesn’t expect you to buy them over again.”

“Dad always likes me to do what I wish,” replied Kathleen calmly.

“Well, don’t do it again.  It’s extremely displeasing both to David and me.”

Kathleen laughed.

“Dave gobbled up his sausage and his sardines,” she said.

“Don’t do it again, that’s all.”

Kathleen nodded her head, and again buried herself in her book.

“And there is another thing,” continued Alice, dropping into a chair by Kathleen’s side.  “You are very low down in the school.  Two of the mistresses spoke to me about you to-day.  They don’t like to see a great overgrown girl like you in a class with little children; it does neither you nor the school credit.  They fear that during this term you may be forced to continue in your present low position; but they earnestly hope that you will work very hard, so as to be removed into a higher form.  You ought, after Christmas, to get into a class at least two removes higher up in the school.  That is what I came to say.  I suppose you have a certain sense of honor, and you don’t want your father’s money to be thrown away.”

“Bedad, then! he has plenty of money, and I don’t much care,” replied Kathleen.

She lay back in her chair and whistled “Garry Owen” in a most insolent manner.

“If you have really made up your mind not to improve yourself in the very least, mother had better write to Squire O’Hara and suggest that you don’t come back after Christmas.”

“And Squire O’Hara will decide that point for himself,” replied Kathleen.  “There are other houses where I can be entertained and fussed over, and regarded as I ought to be regarded, besides the home of Alice Tennant.  The fact is this, Alice:  you aggravate me; you don’t understand me; I am at my worst in your presence.  Perhaps I am a bit wild sometimes, but your way would never drive me to work or anything else.  I have no real dislike to learning, and if another girl spoke to me as you have done I might be very glad.”