“What luck some people have,” said the brown-eyed blonde, “while others—oh, girls, I know something perfectly lovely, but I don’t know whether I ought to tell it to you or not. My conscience—” “Why, Frances,” said the president, “I shall be awfully hurt if you don’t tell us now. When a girl speaks of her conscience in that way, it simply means that she distrusts her audience. You might know by this time, that we never tell anything which transpires at a meeting of this club.” “Of course not,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “Why, Dick teased me vainly a whole evening to find out the line of argument advanced in favor of equal suffrage when we discussed ‘Woman in Politics’ the other day. The janitor must have told him the topic under discussion,” she added hastily. “Very likely,” said the president. “What was that you wished to tell us, Frances, dear?” “It was something that happened to Nell,” said the brown-eyed blonde. “Her fiancé had told her a great deal of his friend, Mr. Thynker, of Boston, who is to be his best man, and whom she had never seen. He appeared suddenly at Mr. Dickenharry’s office the other day, just as the latter was starting for Milwaukee, and there was barely time for him to make arrangements with Mr. Thynker to call on Nell the following afternoon. As it happened, he knew the Vansmiths, and was asked to the luncheon they gave that day, and seated immediately opposite to Nell. Of course he didn’t catch her name when they were introduced, and there was no chance for explanations. Oh, girls, I wonder if I really ought to finish this?” “If you don’t, I shall ask Nell why you didn’t,” said the president. “Well, during a lull in the conversation, he leaned forward and, in loud, clear tones, asked Nell what kind of a girl his friend Tom Dickenharry had got himself engaged to _this_ time!” “M’hm,” said the president, after the laughter had subsided a little, “that settles one matter in advance, anyhow. It is easy to know upon whose side the victory will rest when they have their first quarrel after marriage.” “There is one question I would like to ask the members of this club,” said the girl with the eyeglasses, “and it is one which nearly disrupted our little Shakespeare club: If you really want to please a man—any man—what is the best way to go about it?” “That is really such a simple question that there is only one answer possible,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “And that is—” “Be born rich.” “But, suppose you have neglected that qualification,” persisted the girl with the eyeglasses. “Learn to cook; but never let him taste the result of your cookery,” said the blue-eyed girl. “Yes—or wear his college colors,” said the girl with the classic profile. “Let him do all the talking,” said the brown-eyed blonde.