th which she blended their colors.

"Tell you what, girls," said Miss Berengaria Topping, female
representative of the great dynasty that ruled over the world-famous
Planet Hotel, "she's got style, lots of it. I call her perfectly
splendid, when she's got up in her swell clothes. That oriole's wing she
wears in her bonnet makes her look gorgeous, she'll be a stunning
Pocahontas for the next tableau."

Miss Rose Bugbee, whose family opulence grew out of the only merchantable
article a Hebrew is never known to seek profit from, thought she could be
made presentable in the first circles if taken in hand in good season.
So it came about that, before many weeks had passed over her as a scholar
in the great educational establishment, she might be considered as on the
whole the most popular girl in the whole bevy of them. The studious ones
admired her for her facility of learning, and her extraordinary appetite
for every form of instruction, and the showy girls, who were only
enduring school as the purgatory that opened into the celestial world of
society, recognized in her a very handsome young person, who would be
like to make a sensation sooner or later.

There were, however, it must be confessed, a few who considered
themselves the thickest of the cream of the school-girls, who submitted
her to a more trying ordeal than any she had yet passed.

"How many horses does your papa keep?" asked Miss Florence Smythe. "We
keep nine, and a pony for Edgar."

Myrtle had to explain that she had no papa, and that they did not keep
any horses. Thereupon Miss Florence Smythe lost her desire to form an
acquaintance, and wrote home to her mother (who was an ex-bonnet-maker)
that the school was getting common, she was afraid,--they were letting in
persons one knew nothing about.

Miss Clare Browne had a similar curiosity about the amount of plate used
in the household from which Myrtle came. Her father had just bought a
complete silver service. Myrtle had to own that they used a good deal of
china at her own home,--old china, which had been a hundred years in the
family, some of it.

"A hundred years old!" exclaimed Miss Clare Browne. "What queer-looking
stuff it must be! Why, everything in our house is just as new and
bright! Papaa had all our pictures painted on purpose for us. Have you
got any handsome pictures in your house?"

"We have a good many portraits of members of the family," she said, "some
of them older tha