“You can never be sure of pleasing a man,” sighed the blue-eyed girl, who was calling on her dearest friend; “that is, if you try to please him,” she added reflectively.

“I suppose not,” replied the girl with the dimple in her chin, “unless you succeed in concealing from him the fact that you are trying to please him.”

“H’m; yes, I suppose there is something in that. However, we ought not to be hard on the poor things. The whole truth with the sterner sex is that they are never really practical. They—”

“How clever you are!” cried the girl with the dimple in her chin, admiringly. “Sometimes it does seem a pity that you are to marry Jack, instead of studying law, or—theosophy or something like that. Really, a very little study would fit you for the bar, but of course Jack—”

“I don’t intend to marry Jack,” said the blue-eyed girl, calmly.

“O, my goodness, does he know that?”

“I don’t know whether he knows that or not; but he does know that I’ve broken my engagement with him. I sent back his ring, and—”

“Dear, dear; that ring must have already cost its real value in messenger fees alone. Let me see, how many times have you sent—”

“And you may know that I am in earnest when I tell you that I am to pour tea for Nell to-morrow, and everybody will comment on its absence.”

“Do you want me to come over and stay with you to-night, dear?” queried the girl with the dimple in her chin.

“No, thank you, dear. I can just as well talk it over with you now. Of course it was Jack’s fault.”

The girl with the dimple in her chin was silent.

“Well, Emily Marshmallow, I did think that you, of all people, would sympathize with me, and—”

“Look here, Dorothy; of course I sympathize with you, but you remember when you quarreled with Jack the last time I—”

“I remember the last time that Jack quarreled with me,” replied the blue-eyed girl, with dignity.

“Well, I sympathized violently with you, and the consequence was that you wouldn’t speak to me for a month after you made up with him!”

“O, of course, if you really do sympathize with me, I—”

“You might know that. But tell me all about it. Is it that you want a new ring which is too expensive for anything save a peace offering? Or is Edwin coming home on a visit? Or has—”

“Nothing so frivolous, my dear; this is a serious matter. Jack—that is, Mr. Bittersweet, joined a new club without even letting me know that he meant to do it. I shouldn’t have minded if he had only told of it beforehand—”

“Of course not, dear; for then you could have made him give it up!”

“Exactly. Well, when I did find it out, I told him that I plainly saw he did not really love me, and that it was lucky I had discovered the fact before it was too late!”

“How very original you are!” murmured the girl with the dimple in her chin. “Go on, dear.”

“Yes, it is all over and I never was so hap—happy in my life! Where is my hand—handkerchief? I—I got s—something in my eye on the way here, and—”

“Here it is, dear, and let me draw down the window shade, so the light will not hurt your poor eye.”

“You needn’t, dear. I saw them coming up the street a minute or two ago and all I’ve got to say is, that if Jack Bittersweet thinks he can make me jealous by parading up and down with a made-up thing like Frances, he is very much mistaken!”

“I suppose you have coaxed Edwin’s sister to write and tell him that you have broken with Jack?” queried the girl with the dimple in her chin.

“No, I haven’t. I did that last time and he was so unpleasant after we made up!”

“Who was unpleasant? Jack?”

“Of course not, goosie. A man is always nicer than usual just after making up. No, it was Edwin; he—men are so awfully selfish, you know! Just because I was nice to him while I was angry with Jack, he imagined I had treated him badly—did you ever hear of such a thing? How did he ever expect me to bring Jack to his senses in time for the opera season, without a little jealousy as an incentive?”

“Well, you know, men are so awfully vain that he probably thought—”

“That I really liked him? Perhaps he did. I never thought of that. Still, badly as he has behaved, I can’t help a kindly feeling for him. You see, I had such a lovely new gown for the opera and everybody knew that I expected to go often, so—”

“You might even have had to give in and acknowledge that you were wrong, but for Edwin!”

“No, dear,” replied the blue-eyed girl, with great dignity. “Never that. I really expected to marry Jack, you know, and it would never have done to establish such a precedent. How could I ever expect a happy married life, if I began it by acknowledging that I could ever be in the wrong?”

“Very true, dear. By the way, do you think a peep at my lovely new waist would do you any good?”

“You seem to have misunderstood me entirely,” retorted the blue-eyed girl, severely, “I am feeling quite happy. Indeed, I don’t know that I ever felt happier in my life, unless it was the day upon which I was mistaken for my younger sister!”

“But what are you going to do in regard to Jack?”

“Why, Emily Marshmallow, how stupid you are to-day! You seem to imagine that I want to be flattered, like a man, by being asked to explain things. I told you, didn’t I? that Jack and I quarreled about his membership in a new club. Very well, I too, have decided to join a club!”

“Humph, that isn’t a bad idea. But what kind of a club? An Ibsen or a Browning one, I suppose. I notice that men dislike particularly to have us members of really intellectual clubs.”

“Well, I did think of either an Ibsen or a Symphony club, but neither of them just seemed to suit me, so—well, the fact is that I’ve decided to found a club of my own.”

“But even then you can’t always have it to suit you, because the other members—”

“Oh, yes, I shall dear. You see, I’ll make all the—the by-laws and resolutions just as I want them, before I invite any one to join the club. I think I shall ask Evelyn to be the president, because she is married and accustomed already to making somebody do as she wishes.”

“Dear, dear, I’m only afraid that you are too clever to—”

“Succeed? Not quite so bad as that, I hope. Now, you see, the chief objection to Jack’s new club was that he wouldn’t tell me anything about it. Said he didn’t know just what its purpose was. As if a man would join a club without knowing—”

“I begin to see now. You mean to keep the purpose of your own club a secret, too?”

“That’s just it, and when Jack hears how nice it is, he’ll find out that we are a great deal cleverer than he thinks. I shall make the membership for life too, so—”

“But you haven’t even told me the purpose of the club yet.”

“The Advancement of Woman, dear. Jack hates advanced women and when I make up with him—”

“But you said a moment ago that you would never—”

“Good gracious, Emily,” cried the blue-eyed girl, hastily, “do stop talking a moment and let me get in a word edgewise: I’ve been trying for half an hour to get a chance to ask you where the new waist you offered to show me, is, and I can’t—”

“Here it is in my wardrobe and isn’t it a dream? You may try it on, if you like.”

“Thank you, dear; but no. I care so little for such frivolities, now that I have come to enjoy the real intellectual life. Did you ever see such darling sleeves? It does seem that a girl who could not be happy in them must—”

“Have at least a boil on her chin! Yes, doesn’t it? But really, Dorothy, you make me ashamed of caring so much for such vanities. Why, those very sleeves cost me two whole nights’ rest!”

“Never mind about that, dear; we can’t all be intellectual. Look here, Emily Marshmallow, if you’ll promise never to breathe it as long as you live, I’ll tell you the last mean thing that Frances—”

“Oh, do! She has a new gown that would arouse the envy of Dr. Mary Walker. All chiffon, spangles, embroidery and—”

“I know. My story has reference to that very gown. You know how very mysterious she always is about her new things!”

“M’hm. As if anybody cared to know about them! Do tell me if her waist is made—”

“Well, I—you see, it was this way: I knew she was having her new gown made at Madame’s, and I accidentally discovered that she was to be fitted on Friday at two.”

“Oh, I see. Then, you called upon Frances at one o’clock, thinking that she’d take you along, rather than risk offending Madame by being late?”

“No; Frances isn’t afraid of Madame—she doesn’t owe her anything. I just happened in at Madame’s at half-past two. They told me she was busy, but I said I knew she wouldn’t mind if I stepped into the fitting-room for a minute, as I had a letter from Paris and wanted to tell her all about the new skirts.”

“Oh, you clever thing!”

“Yes. So in I bounced, and there stood Frances, all in billowy waves of turquoise blue and—”

“But I thought her new gown was green and white, with—”

“And you should have seen how sweetly she smiled. So sweetly that I knew she was wild with rage!”

“But did you make it right with the Madame? Did—”

“Pretended that I must have left the Paris letter at home, and told her I’d fetch it the next day. Then, after a good, long look at Frances, I came away and—”

“And ran in to tell all the other girls how her new gown was made?”

“M’hm. Annie first: you know, she hasn’t a bit of originality and she said, at once, that she’d have her new one just like it. Then, I dropped in at Evelyn’s tea and—”

“Told all the others, too. M’hm.”

“Yes. But what do you think that cat, Frances, had done? She’d been there before me and told them all that I had come into the fitting-room out of sheer curiosity—I curious, the idea! And the gown she was trying on was not her own, after all, she said, but one about which Madame had asked her opinion and—”

“Gracious, do you suppose that was the truth?”

“Alas, I know it;” groaned the blue-eyed girl, “it belonged to Jack’s sister, Effie! Now, Effie detests Annie and when she sees her in a gown which is an exact reproduction of her own, she will—”

“Won’t she, though? Well, my dear, Effie was an unknown quantity before, but now you may depend upon one thing—she will use any influence she may have with Jack against you.”

“True. And all because of such a silly thing, too! But, then, people are so frivolous. Well, you will join my new club, won’t you?”

“Mercy, yes. You had better invite Frances, too; she will tell Effie all about it, and the first time Effie is offended with Jack, she will tell him, thinking to annoy you both—”

“I shall, though it is hardly necessary, either, for, once started, everybody will talk of nothing else. But, whatever you do, don’t tell Dick a word about it. Evelyn’s husband is sure to tell him, anyhow, and then he can’t say that women never keep secrets.”

“What utter nonsense. Of course women can keep secrets! Why, I once knew a girl intimately for two whole years and in all that time she never told me that her curls were false. I wouldn’t have known it to this day, if I hadn’t walked into her room one day when she had washed them and hung them up to dry. I’ve told that story to a dozen men, and I’ve never yet found one of them magnanimous enough to acknowledge that it proved my point!”

“You can’t prove anything to a man, dear, unless he wants it proved. Well, I must go. You’ll not fail me at the first meeting of the Teacup club, then?”

“The Teacup club,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin, disappointedly, “Why I thought it was to be a really intellectual club, and—”

“So it is. But, you know, real merit is always modest. If a lot of men get up such a thing, they give it a six-syllabled name; but we wish to evade, rather than seek, notoriety and, besides, as I said before, once we get it started, the whole town will talk of nothing else!”

It fell upon a bright sunshiny day, and the meeting for the organization of the Teacup club was well attended.

“And all the girls are wearing their newest gowns, too,” whispered the blue-eyed girl to the girl with the dimple in her chin, “that shows that they appreciate the importance of the undertaking.”

“And what an awfully becoming hat you are wearing,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “If I owned such a milliner’s dream I should not mind anything that could happen to me.”

“Which means that you have something unpleasant to tell me,” said the blue-eyed girl. “You need not be uneasy,” she added, “I’ll not move a muscle, for Frances is looking this way.”

“Well, then, I heard her tell Nell that Jack comes to her almost every day for sympathy and—”

“Humph. When a man says ‘sympathy’ he means flattery! Is that all?”

“All? Why I thought—”

“Yes, dear. You see, I thought perhaps you had stronger proof than her own assertion. Why, Frances, dear, how well you are looking to-day! I have not seen you for such an age that I thought you must be out of town.”

“Has it seemed so long to you, dear?” returned the brown-eyed blonde. “Now, to me the days go so swiftly that, as I sometimes tell Ja—Mr. Bittersweet, I mean—I often forget whether it is Saturday or Monday!”

“So you have seen the poor fellow, have you?” returned the blue-eyed girl, with an angelic smile; “it is so good of you to console him. But, indeed, you are always good about such things and so modest about it, too, that but for the men themselves, we should never know how hard you work just to induce them to come and be comforted!”

“I—why,—I—” stammered the brown-eyed blonde.

“Yes, indeed, I was defending you only the other day. I was quite angry with Marion for saying that your house should be called ‘An Asylum for the Rejected.’ I was so indignant that I just told her that, for my part, I thought we all ought to be grateful to you for consoling the poor fellows and helping to keep them out of mischief when they are feeling so badly. I reminded her, too, that you must do it out of pure philanthropy—for you never seem to get anything out of it. Really, I never saw you looking quite so well; you have such a fine color and—oh, here is Evelyn, at last, and we can call the meeting to order!”

“Why, Evelyn is wearing her old gown,” cried the girl with the classic profile, “I call that downright mean! I had thought I could get such a good chance to study the draping of it while she was on the platform.”

“Perhaps, that is why she didn’t wear it,” returned the girl with the eyeglasses. “Mercy, is it me they are calling to order? Why, didn’t you tell me before; I—”

“Dear me, girls,” the little woman on the platform was saying, “I don’t know that I ought to be president. It seems to me that we should have an election or something.”

“That is not necessary,” said the blue-eyed girl, “don’t you remember? I asked you to be president, in the first place. But if you’d rather, I’ll move that you are to be the chief officer, and Emily, here, will second the motion, won’t you Emily?”

“Why, yes of course,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin.

“That does seem more regular,” said the little woman on the platform, in a relieved tone. “I wonder if I ought to make a speech of acceptance?”

“Not unless you choose;” said the blue-eyed girl, “harmony is the chief study of this club, and—”

“Oh, if it is to be a club for the study of harmony, I can’t join;” said the girl with the eyeglasses, “I don’t know a thing about music and—”

“I’m afraid you have not been paying attention,” said the blue-eyed girl, severely. “The club is organized for the advancement of woman and I don’t know a girl anywhere who would be more benefited by it than yourself. By the way, Evelyn, I suppose we ought to assess dues, or something. I know that Ja—I mean a man I know—is always talking about dues at his clubs.”

“Oh, but this is to be entirely different from a man’s club,” said the president, “and, then, what is the use of assessing dues, anyhow?”

“We might give the money to charity,” suggested the girl with the classic profile.

“Oh, well, if we did that, why not let each of us give what she wants to charity and be done with it?” said the girl with the eyeglasses.

“Yes, of course,” said the president; “dear me, I had no idea that it was so easy to organize a club, or I’d have done it long ago. It isn’t half as much trouble as giving a tea and you don’t run any risk of offending people by forgetting to invite them and then having to convince them that the card was lost in the mails.”

“Talking of teas,” said the girl with the Roman nose, “I—”

“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—”

“Would gladly have accepted the invitation—and been suddenly taken ill on the appointed day, of course. Well, when the papers and selections were being read, I studied my programme to keep my eyes from those appalling coiffures, and when I saw the word ‘Music’ on it, I felt like a person who has found an oasis in a desert!”

“And had you?” queried the president, who had left the platform and joined the group about the narrator.

“No. They played something from Wagner!”

“And you?” said the girl with the classic profile.

“Oh, I was in a comatose condition by that time. Nothing mattered. After the interminable programme they served refreshments.”

“You felt better then?” said the girl with the dimple in her chin.

“No, I didn’t. They had tea and wafers! Tea and wafers after Ibsen, Browning and Wagner! And then Clarissa vanished and I couldn’t get away. The people present were all very distinguished; one of the members had written an epic poem which would have appeared in Harper’s if it had not been lost in the mails; one of them had invented a rational dress for men and another had once been asked to deliver a lecture upon ‘Thought Transference’ before a mothers’ meeting at an orphan asylum!”

“My goodness, no wonder you wanted to go home!” cried the brown-eyed blonde.

“I did—badly. By and by, while I was wandering about the rooms in search of Clarissa, I found a woman who looked as unhappy as I felt. I was afraid to speak to her, lest she be somebody very remarkable, but she asked me, timidly, if I was the lady who had actually worn a rainy day dress, in public. I assured her that I was not, and after that we got on famously.”

“But who was she?” the president asked.

“I don’t know her name, but after we had discussed Ibsen and Browning a little, I asked what she had done. She replied, modestly: ‘Oh, I am the person who always read the Woman’s page in the daily papers!’ After that, we talked just like ordinary people, and I didn’t see Clarissa when she came to look for me!”

“My goodness, girls, we really ought not to laugh so,” said the girl with the Roman nose, “because this club is devoted to the advancement of woman, and—”

“That is entirely different,” said the president. “Did Ibsen, Browning or Wagner ever do anything for the advancement of woman, I’d like to know?”

“Of course not,” said the blue-eyed girl, promptly. “How very absurd!”

“Besides, our club is laid out on entirely new lines,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin.

“Yes, isn’t it?” returned the president; “Oh, girls, I quite forgot to tell you that we shall have to pay rent for this room if we hold our meetings here, and we haven’t made any provision for paying it.”

“But what is the use of making provision, when it isn’t due yet?” asked the blue-eyed girl.

“Why—er, that is very true,” said the president; “I only wish I was as good a business woman as you!”

“Oh, I often feel that I have a great deal to learn yet,” said the blue-eyed girl, modestly. “By the way, Evelyn, what did your husband say when you told him that you had decided to join a club?”

“He said—Oh, girls, I’m almost ashamed to tell you, but then Tom is only a man, after all. He said: ‘Then, may the Lord have mercy upon my wretched digestion!’”

“As if women had nothing to do but cook and keep house! when lots of us know nothing about either of them,” said the girl with the classic profile, indignantly. “Girls, I wonder why it is that if a woman studies law or anything like that, somebody is sure to say that she is going outside of her sphere, while nobody thinks anything of the kind if a man becomes a chef or invents a food for infants?”

“Oh, if you expect logic from a man!” said the president, shrugging her shoulders; “however, I expected it, too, before I was married. I know better now.”

“Dear, dear, isn’t the Advancement of Woman delightful?” cried the girl with the eyeglasses. “After this, when we want to know anything, we needn’t go to the trouble of looking it up in the dictionary or the encyclopÆdia; we can just discuss it at the club, and—”

“Why do you bother with those horrid books? I never do,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “They are so heavy and always dusty, too. Now, I just ask the nearest man what I want to know. If he happens to be wrong, I can always cite my authority and it gives the next man a double pleasure in setting me right.”

“What a clever thing you are,” said the girl with the eyeglasses; “you always make me think of what somebody said about er—Juliet, I think: ‘To know her is a liberal education.’”

“Oh, that is nothing. Why, I know a Vassar girl who has studied Greek and all that sort of thing and she invariably misspells several simple words whenever she writes to a man, so he may think himself so much cleverer than her and—”

“And I know a girl who asks every man, the first time she meets him, to explain the Australian ballot system. You see, it is a thing they all have to know, so they—”

“Goodness me, I should think she would get awfully tired of the answer,” said the president.

“She does. She told me not long ago that she really must invent a new stock question, for she could hardly keep from yawning now, while—”

“Speaking of yawning,” broke in the brown-eyed blonde, “Teddy Croesus doesn’t send Molly flowers or bonbons any more!”

“I don’t see what that has to do with yawning,” said the girl with the Roman nose.

“More than you may think, dear. You know Molly always asks a man if a premonition of danger has ever been the means of saving his life. She doesn’t ask it the first time they meet, but saves it for some special occasion. Well, one evening at a reception, Teddy seemed disposed to talk to Florence too much, and Molly asked him the question then, because she knew—”

“That he would stay with her as long as she allowed him to talk about himself! Yes, of course,” said the blue-eyed girl.

“M’hm. Well, he was in the midst of a long story about how he once escaped from being in a railroad wreck by missing his train. Molly was listening with breathless interest when she saw Florence stop within two feet of her. She couldn’t resist one glance of triumph and that glance was her ruin.”

“It was? Did he look up just then and remember Flo—”

“No, dear. But just as Molly looked at her, she gave a mighty yawn. Well, you know, yawning is contagious and Molly had been at a ball the night before, so she yawned, too. Teddy’s eyes were on her and—”

“And now Florence gets his violets and bonbons! Well, isn’t that a story without a moral?” cried the girl with the eyeglasses.

“It certainly is,” groaned the president. “Well, girls, I fear we must adjourn, though it is hard to break up such an intellectual talk. For my part, I shall go back to the petty cares of life with renewed energy after a breath of air from a higher plane.”

“I, too,” said the girl with the Roman nose, “I feel now as if petty gossip and scandal could never interest me again.”

The president and the blue-eyed girl had walked four blocks, when the former suddenly stopped.

“There, I knew I had forgotten something,” she cried; “at first, I thought it was only to order dinner, but now I remember that I did not suggest a topic for discussion at our next meeting!”

“Oh, pshaw, that makes no difference,” said the blue-eyed girl, “nobody would have had time to prepare anything for it, if you had; there is so much going on in our set this week, and—”

“Very true,” replied the president, “and all the members are so much interested in intellectual topics, anyhow, that they are quite prepared to discuss them extemporaneously as we did to-day.”