But Mrs. Ballinger’s patience had reached the extreme limit of tension. “This at least,” she returned; “that we shall not be placed again in the humiliating position of finding ourselves less up on our own subjects than Fanny Roby!” Even to Mrs. Plinth this argument was conclusive. She peered furtively about the room and lowered her commanding tones to ask: “Have you got a copy?” “A--a copy?” stammered Mrs. Ballinger. She was aware that the other members were looking at her expectantly, and that this answer was inadequate, so she supported it by asking another question. “A copy of what?” Her companions bent their expectant gaze on Mrs. Plinth, who, in turn, appeared less sure of herself than usual. “Why, of--of--the book,” she explained. “What book?” snapped Miss Van Vluyck, almost as sharply as Osric Dane. Mrs. Ballinger looked at Laura Glyde, whose eyes were interrogatively fixed on Mrs. Leveret. The fact of being deferred to was so new to the latter that it filled her with an insane temerity. “Why, Xingu, of course!” she exclaimed. A profound silence followed this challenge to the resources of Mrs. Ballinger’s library, and the latter, after glancing nervously toward the Books of the Day, returned with dignity: “It’s not a thing one cares to leave about.” “I should think not!” exclaimed Mrs. Plinth. “It _is_ a book, then?” said Miss Van Vluyck. This again threw the company into disarray, and Mrs. Ballinger, with an impatient sigh, rejoined: “Why--there _is_ a book--naturally....” “Then why did Miss Glyde call it a religion?” Laura Glyde started up. “A religion? I never--” “Yes, you did,” Miss Van Vluyck insisted; “you spoke of rites; and Mrs. Plinth said it was a custom.” Miss Glyde was evidently making a desperate effort to recall her statement; but accuracy of detail was not her strongest point. At length she began in a deep murmur: “Surely they used to do something of the kind at the Eleusinian mysteries--” “Oh--” said Miss Van Vluyck, on the verge of disapproval; and Mrs. Plinth protested: “I understood there was to be no indelicacy!” Mrs. Ballinger could not control her irritation. “Really, it is too bad that we should not be able to talk the matter over quietly among ourselves. Personally, I think that if one goes into Xingu at all--” “Oh, so do I!” cried Miss Glyde. “And I don’t see how one can avoid doing so, if one wishes to keep up with the Thought of the Day--” Mrs. Leveret uttered an exclamation of relief. “There--that’s it!” she interposed. “What’s it?” the President took her up. “Why--it’s a--a Thought: I mean a philosophy.” This seemed to bring a certain relief to Mrs. Ballinger and Laura Glyde, but Miss Van Vluyck said: “Excuse me if I tell you that you’re all mistaken. Xingu happens to be a language.” “A language!” the Lunch Club cried. “Certainly. Don’t you remember Fanny Roby’s saying that there were several branches, and that some were hard to trace? What could that apply to but dialects?”