“I think you are perfectly safe for some time to come, dear,” said the girl with the classic profile, “his married sister, with whom he lives, is anxious for him to marry. She has the habit of inviting any girl he seems to admire, so constantly to the house that she soon loses all her charm for him.” “No man likes courtship made easy,” said the girl with the Roman nose. “Mr. Troolygood will surely die a bachelor unless he succeeds some day in unearthing a girl whom his sister dislikes. That is hardly probable, either, since he invariably admires a girl with money—a habit, by the way, which I have also noticed in other young clergymen.” “It is not confined to young clergymen, dear,” remarked the girl with the eyeglasses. “Talk about women being mercenary, I have often noticed that men think much more of money than we do. We know that they must provide for us somehow, and the doing of it is their affair.” “Oh, girls,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin, “what excellent mental training we do receive at this club! Dorothy was wondering the other day how we ever got along without it; and, indeed, so was I. A reputation for being intellectual is the nicest thing in the world; once you have it, you can be as silly as you choose, and people will feel actually grateful to you for unbending. It has its drawbacks, though. I find one must be more careful than ever to have cuffs and gloves immaculate.” “True,” said the girl with the classic profile. “Girls, a college professor asked me the other day why we always wear veils on the street!” “And what did you reply?” queried the girl with the Roman nose. “To keep our faces clean! What did you suppose?” “Oh! I thought you told him the truth. However, the more intellectual a man is the less he understands women. One of his students would—” “Know better than to expect the truth in reply to such a question? Of course he would,” said the president; “but oh, girls, if an octogenarian knew as much about us as a sophomore _thinks_ he does, what a queer world this would be!” “Unpleasant rather than queer,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “Of course we understand men thoroughly; but that is a very different matter.” “Oh, very different,” said the girl with the Roman nose. “But aren’t they queer? Why, I once knew a man who called a girl a ‘most adorable little flirt,’ and then felt very much aggrieved when she kept on flirting after they became engaged!” “Lots of girls never have an opportunity to flirt until they _are_ engaged,” remarked the girl with the dimple in her chin. “To some men, an engagement ring on a girl’s hand has the same effect that a ‘Keep off the grass’ sign has on children.” “True,” said the girl with the Roman nose. “Oh, Marion, shall you also visit Lola this year?” “Not this century,” replied the girl with the eyeglasses. “Didn’t you hear what happened the last time she was here?”