“Very true,” said the president. “Girls, the editor of a literary journal has asked for some of the papers which have been read before this club. He says—” “Mercy, what answer shall you make?” cried the girl with the dimple in her chin. “I told him that I could not think of such a thing. I always disliked notoriety. It was very kind of him, though, and he even offered to let the authors of the papers have copies of their effusions at reduced rates, provided they took over a hundred.” “Which, of course, they would,” said the blue-eyed girl. “Well, you were quite right to refuse, Evelyn. I, for one, have such a horror of publicity, and, besides, it would be quite expensive sending copies to all one’s acquaintances.” “True,” said the president; “we are all in accord, as usual. Let us discuss, ‘The Use and Abuse of Political Power,’ to-day. It is a subject which is of the greatest importance to all of us, and—” “How do you spell ‘political?’ With one _t_ or two?” asked the girl with the eyeglasses, as she opened her note-book. “With one—no, two. Pshaw, I can’t remember. Just write it indistinctly.” “Oh, Dorothy,” whispered the girl with the dimple in her chin, “I saw Dick this morning, and he says Jack told him yesterday that he didn’t really know what your quarrel was about, but he meant to go and see you to-day, and ask you to forgive him!” “I shall,” said the blue-eyed girl; “and I don’t mind confessing to you, Emily, that I, too, may have been just the merest possible bit in the wrong. I’ve felt it right along, but I couldn’t admit it, until he— What shall I wear when he comes to see me?” “You might wear the blue gown he always admires so much.” “So I might. You know I wore a blue gown the day he asked me to marry him, and he said I must keep it always. Of course, this isn’t the same one, but I am careful to have each succeeding one the same color, and he doesn’t know the difference. Perhaps I have told you this before.” “I think you have, dear—once or twice,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin, demurely. “Yes. I don’t mind letting you know, Emily, that I have missed him a good deal. Why, I had his photograph—the one I pretended to have lost, so I needn’t send it back—out when you knocked at my door to-day. You couldn’t have helped seeing me thrust it under Clover’s cushion, if you hadn’t thought something was wrong with your boot heel, and stooped down to see.” “You don’t say so. Well, all I’ve got to say is, I wish I might see Frances’ face at the wedding!” “You shall, dear. I’ll ask her to be bridesmaid, and you, as maid of honor, can have a good chance to watch her. You have been such a faithful friend to both Jack and myself that you deserve at least that much satisfaction.” “Look here, Emily and Dorothy, I am afraid you are not attending strictly to the discussion,” said the president. “The topic is— Frances, what on earth has made you so late?”