t,
she again lost herself in her maiden meditations. But I'll tell you
who she is a relation of--she's the thirty-second cousin once removed
of 'Prescott's Conquest of Peru'--aren't you, Nancy?"

"Charlotte, you're a scream," said Katherine, with an affected laugh,
and turning to Nancy, she went on, speaking in a mincing voice, and
always placing her lips as if she were continually guarding against
spoiling the symmetry of their perfect cupid's bow. "You know, we
always expect Charlotte to say funny things."

"I'm the school buffoon, in other words," commented Charlotte,
dryly--evidently not much liking to be marked as a professional
humorist. "I'm supposed to be '_so_ amusin', doncherknow'--and
consequently, everyone is expected to haw-haw whenever I open my mouth.
But if you listen carefully, you'll be surprised to hear that at times
I talk sense. Now, Allison here is the school genius. You'd never
suspect it, but she is. I wish to goodness that new waitress would
bring me some more bread. It isn't considered stylish around here to
have the bread on the table, but I do wish they'd consider my appetite."

"Is that perfectly sweet-looking girl over there your sister?" asked
Katherine, indicating Alma, her slightly patronizing air still more
pronounced.

"Your new rival for the golden apple, Kate," remarked Charlotte, with a
grin. "And a blonde, too."

Katherine flushed, and tried to laugh off her annoyance at Charlotte's
impish teasing.

"I think she's perfectly lovely."

"Oh, handsome is as handsome does, so they say. The question is has
she a beautiful soul. Now, my soul is something wonderful--if it would
only show through a bit," murmured Charlotte. "I'm plain, but good, as
they say of calico. There's a rumor to the effect that Cleopatra was
very ugly; hope it's so. There are two alternatives for an ugly
woman--either to be tremendously good and noble, or to be very, very
wicked--I can't make up my mind which career to choose. It's an awful
problem."

"I'm going to take muthick lethons thith year, Tharlotte--with Mithter
Conthtantini," lisped Denise Lloyd. "Don't you think he'th jutht
wonderful?" Denise did not resemble her sister in the least. She was
a plump, roly-poly girl of sixteen, still at the giggly, gushing stage
of her life--but much more likable than the haughty Mildred.

She turned to Nancy, with the polite desire of including the new girl
in the conversation, and went on wit