“Pardon me,” said the president, gently, “but if this is a club for the advancement of woman, ought we to talk about teas?” “But you began it, yourself,” said the girl with the Roman nose, “I only—” “I think I said merely that the club is ever so much nicer than a tea,” said the president. “And so it is,” said the blue-eyed girl, “though, by the way, Nell’s last one was lovely—there were enough men present to amuse us, whereas—” “There are usually so few that they have to be amused, lest they get lonesome,” broke in the brown-eyed blonde. “Oh, girls, have you heard that Clarissa—” “Oughtn’t we to be attending to business,” said the girl with the Roman nose, “instead of talking about Clarissa? I saw her myself only an hour ago and if there was anything exciting to tell, she would have—” “But this _has_ a connection with the club,” insisted the brown-eyed blonde. “She wants to become a member!” “She just can’t be anything of the kind,” said the blue-eyed girl, “the idea! A girl whose reputation for intellectuality rests upon the careless combing of her hair and a habit of wearing hats six months behind the mode.” “But how can we get out of it, if she says she wants to join?” said the president, with an anxious air. “Tell her that one of the rules of the club is that no person over the age of twenty-two years can become a member,” suggested the girl with the dimple in her chin; “she celebrated her twenty-third birthday about a week ago, you remember.” “But it isn’t one of the rules,” objected the brown-eyed blonde. “Then, we can make it a rule, right now,” said the blue-eyed girl, calmly. “I know just how it would be if we let Clarissa into the club—she’d insist upon having everything her own way right along. I hate such selfishness myself, and—” “So do I,” said the president; “by the way, oughtn’t we to make a note of that rule, at once?” “What would be the use of that?” said the girl with the dimple in her chin, “we have all heard it. Oh, girls, I already see the benefit we are to derive from the influence of this club! Not a single soul has said a word in regard to Clarissa’s pretentions to being only twenty-three!” “Why, that’s true,” cried the president, “and very considerate of us it was, too, when we all know how ridiculous it is!” “Oh, girls, I must tell you something,” cried the girl with the eyeglasses. “I went with Clarissa to a reception given by her literary club the other evening and it was simply awful!” “Not a decent toilet in the room, of course,” said the brown-eyed blonde. “Oh, I didn’t expect that—I knew it was a culture club. It seems that there had been an awful time over the programme. Some of the members wanted to have an Ibsen evening, while others declared for Browning. Finally, they decided upon a mixed programme, selections from them both, you know. I did not know that when I went.” “I should think not,” said the girl with the Roman nose, “otherwise, you—”