“Because I had already taken enough for a half-dozen pairs of gloves out of that. It happened that he had not given a single stag dinner during the month, so I could not filch too much without discovery. When he gives a dinner, I can always pay myself well for the trouble of it. If he complains of the bills, I just say, ‘Yes, dear, I see that we cannot afford any more stag dinners,’ and that settles it at once,” she added. “I should think it would,” said the blue-eyed girl, thoughtfully. “Did you tell Tom how mean you thought it of him to expect you to pay back money that you had borrowed?” “I did. I said, ‘I wouldn’t be as selfish as you are for anything!’” “And did that make him feel badly? I should think so.” “Not a bit. You don’t know Tom; he just laughed as if it was funny. Luckily, I had given him a silk umbrella for his birthday, and as he has two already, and this one is—er rather small, I shall get a good deal of use out of it myself.” “And you hadn’t one at all, had you?” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “I remember the day you lost yours.” “Yes. Wasn’t it nice of me to buy one for him when I really needed it for myself? But one can’t expect a man to appreciate generosity.” “Oh, girls,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin, “what do you think I heard to-day?” “I don’t know what _you_ heard,” said the girl with the Roman nose, “but I heard that Clarence Lighthed has just inherited a fortune from an uncle whom he had never seen! You know he is my cousin, and—” “Have you just heard that,” said the blue-eyed girl, “He told _me_ about it a week ago—the day you said he was stupid, Emily. I knew at the time that you would feel badly when you discovered that it was only—er—grief for the death of his uncle, which made him so quiet and thoughtful. Poor fellow, it must have been _such_ a shock to him!” “How kind of you to comfort him in his sorrow,” said the brown-eyed blonde, in sarcastic tones. “Yes, dear—especially as he could have his choice of comforters. I think you said that you, too, have a piece of news, Emily.” “Why—er—yes, I heard that Effie Bittersweet is on the verge of nervous prostration.” The blue-eyed girl said never a word; she looked out of the window opposite her, and there was a soft, sweet smile on her face. Perhaps she failed to see the glances that were exchanged by the others. “Oh, girls, have you heard the awful thing that happened to me yesterday?” asked the girl with the eyeglasses. “No? Then, I had better tell you all about it myself. I had an engagement with Harry; we were to call on his aunt who lives in Rogers Park—nothing very exciting, you know. Well, Mr. Doolittle came in early to ask me if I wouldn’t go to the matinée with him. Now, I knew Harry would take me to see his aunt any day, and Mr. Doolittle might never ask me to go to the matinée again, so I accepted his invitation at once.” “You would have been very stupid if you hadn’t,” said the president.