What was most needed in this country and in all countries, the one thing that alone could redeem mankind, declared Brown, soaring away on red wine enthusiasm, was truth. "Let us be honest and outspoken about things as they are, about men and women as they are," he ran on in his charmingly plausible way. "We are none of us very important, there isn't much difference between saints and sinners--I'll argue that point with any man--_but_ there is one immensely valuable contribution that we can all make to the general store of life-knowledge, we can speak the exact truth about ourselves and our experiences, instead of hiding it. That would be a real service to humanity, for this composite truth, assembled and studied, must lead to wisdom; but men and women are such pitiful cowards, such cringing toadies to convention. It makes me sick!" He refilled his glass slowly and continued: "Why is our talk stupid--all talk, so stupid that we have to get drunk in order to endure life? Why are we bores--all of us? Because we are afraid to say the essential things--what we know. We talk about what we don't know, like monkeys, and call it civilized. By God, I'd like to start a society for the dissemination of the truth that everybody knows and nobody tells!" This phrase caught the fancy of Roberta Vallis whose fluttering, frivolous soul was appealed to by any line of reasoning that tended to put saints and sinners on the same level. She made Kendall repeat his idea and then and there proposed that they adopt it. _A society for the dissemination of the truth that everybody knows and nobody tells!_ Splendid! They must found this society--immediately. When should they have the first meeting? In this casual way the Confessional Club came into being, with no fixed membership, no dues or constitution, no regular place or time of meeting, and added one more to those amusing (sometimes inspiring) little groups that have flourished in Greenwich Village. It certainly had a real idea behind it. "We are loaded with human dynamite. We tell the truth that is never told," became the watchword of the society. All of which bears upon the present narrative because Roberta Vallis had arranged to have one of these self-revealing seances as a feature of her party; and she insisted that Penelope contribute an emotional experience. "You _must_ confess something, Pen, my sweet one, in order to be in the spirit of the evening," she explained with bubbling exuberance, "any little thing. We all do it. Only be careful you don't make that architect of yours jealous," she teased. "Think up a classy confession, something weird--understand? Don't look so darned serious. It's only for fun. You can fake up something, dearie, if you're afraid to tell the truth. Why, what's the matter?"