“Oh, dear, so I could,” wailed the president, “it is an awful thing to have a husband and not a logical mind!” “So it is,” said the girl with the Roman nose, “but, Evelyn, don’t tell anybody your opinion of me, for if you do, it may end in my having a logical mind and no husband, which is worse!” “Oh, isn’t this beautiful!” cried the girl with the eyeglasses, suddenly. “Really, girls, I am so stupid—that is not stupid as compared to a man, of course, but to the rest of you—that I wonder you allow me to belong to the club!” and there were tears in her eyes as she spoke. The president came down from the platform and kissed her. “Stupid! the idea of a girl with such a genius for hairdressing being stupid,” she cried. “And that girl a chafing-dish cook whose Welsh rarebits are sometimes successful, too!” cried the brown-eyed blonde. “Oh! speaking of chafing-dish cookery,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “You know that Annie used to be engaged to Eustace, don’t you?” “Yes. But what has that to do with chafing-dish cookery?” said the girl with the Roman nose. “Girls, I have the loveliest recipe for making—” “It has a great deal to do with it. When he married Claire, Annie just smiled and selected a chafing-dish as a wedding present. She knew that Eustace was a confirmed dyspeptic and that Claire’s hands are so pretty that she could not possibly resist an opportunity to display them, so she would cook all sorts of dishes and—” “By the way, I hear that they have agreed to separate,” said the president. “I met Claire on the way to the manicure the other day. I wonder where Eustace is?” “He is in a sanitarium,” replied the girl with the dimple in her chin, “the doctor thinks he will have to be taken into court on a stretcher when the divorce proceedings come up!” “And yet you told me the other day that Annie had no originality; I’ve learned this since then,” whispered the girl with the dimple in her chin to the blue-eyed girl. “I only meant in the matter of gowns, dear,” was the apologetic reply. “By the way, Frances seems not quite herself, to-day.” “I’ve noticed that. I fancied you might have said something to her which—” “Oh, never; why, I consider Frances one of my dearest friends—” “I know that, dear. But what is the use of a friend, if you can’t be disagreeable to her sometimes?” “True. I sometimes think it is one reason that married women keep their friends longer. They have husbands to—” “Act as lightning rods and carry off their displeasure! Yes; it must really be quite a convenience.” “Very likely. Don’t you feel, after all, that Jack—” “Jack? Oh, I suppose you mean Mr. Bittersweet! No, I don’t feel any such thing, Emily Marshmallow, and you are no friend of mine if you champion him after the way he has behaved to me!” “I—I was only going to mention that he had resigned from that new club. He told me so himself.”