“Yes. I was having a lovely time until supper was served, and then Mr. Rocksby emptied a plate of lobster salad over the whole front of my new gown! Florence was near; she never got farther away from him than—than she could help; and—well, you all know how he admires amiability! He apologized profusely, and I, smilingly, said, ‘Oh, it doesn’t make the least difference. The gown is of no value at all, and I should probably never have worn it again, anyhow.’” “How lovely of you!” said the blue-eyed girl. “It must have made a deep impression upon him.” “H’m, I don’t know about that; but it did upon me. I happened to turn my head just then, and papa was at my elbow! I’d rather not tell you the things he said when I gave him the bill for that gown the next morning!” “We can all guess,” said the blue-eyed girl, with a shudder. “But wasn’t Mr. Rocksby awfully nice to you after that?” “No, he wasn’t. He said that the girl who cared nothing for the destruction of such a handsome gown was too extravagant to make a good wife for a poor man! And the hardest part of it all was the fact that he must have lots of money, else he never on earth would speak of himself as ‘a poor man!’” “Let us hope your father never found that out,” said the president, in devout tones. “But he did. He overheard Mr. Rocksby saying it to Florence; and that was one of the things he mentioned when I gave him the bill.” “You poor dear!” said the president. “I declare it really depresses me to hear of such persistent ill-luck. Well, girls, since we have thoroughly exhausted our subject, I think we may just as well adjourn.” The blue-eyed girl went home with the girl with the dimple in her chin, and after they had begun to sip their tea, she said: “Is it true that Jack intends to go to Australia unless our quarrel is made up?” “He—he _says_ he will,” was the cautious reply. “Then, I want to know what you intend to do in the matter?” “What I—intend to do in the matter?” she gasped. “Yes. Of course it is thoroughly in your hands. I have not made a single move without consulting you, and being guided by your advice. And if the quarrel is never made up, and I die of a broken heart, it will be entirely your fault!” Chapter XII The Club Investigates Theosophy “We will discuss to-day: ‘What Theosophy Really Teaches,’” said the president, as soon as she could make herself heard. “You expressed an earnest wish to study it,’ Emily, and—” “Did I?” asked the girl with the dimple in her chin, looking surprised. “I had quite forgotten it. However, I have been so busy with my new hats and the chairmanship of a committee appointed to instruct tenement house mothers as to the best method of bringing up children, that I have had no time for anything else.” “And no wonder,” said the girl with the classic profile. “How grateful those poor ignorant people must be for your instruction!”