“The topic for to-day’s discussion will be ‘Currency Problems of the Present Day,’” observed the president, after the club had come to order, “and I hope you are all prepared—”

“There is only one currency problem in the present day—to my knowledge, at least,” broke in the girl with the classic profile, “and that is: how to make two dollars do the work of ten.”

“Dear me, there is something actually masculine in your flippancy,” said the president, with ferocious gentleness. “The question before us is one of the deepest gravity, and—”

“Nobody knows that better than myself,” said the girl with the classic profile, “don’t I lie awake night after night, wondering how to get my new things out of the money my father has allowed me for the purpose, or, better yet, how to coax more out of him without letting him realize the fact.”

“Don’t talk about money, please; it makes me blue,” wailed the girl with the dimple in her chin. “What with never having enough for myself and constantly seeing other people with more than I like them to have, I—”

“What I want to know is—and you ought to be able to tell me, girls—why a woman who looks all sweetness and gentleness should suddenly develop into a raging lioness, just because her own son wants to marry some nice girl,” sighed the girl with the eyeglasses, waking suddenly out of a reverie.

“Humph,” returned the blue-eyed girl, “there are some things I don’t quite understand myself—such as the banking system, and the reason why your dressmaker tells you calmly that she must have two yards and a half more of your dress material, when you have plainly informed her that you bought a remnant. But as for your question, it is so simple that a man could answer it. No woman ever did, or ever will, like to play second fiddle to another one, and—”

“Oh, nonsense,” said the girl with the Roman nose, “it is just a question of tact. Let a man make his mother believe that she has chosen his wife and she—”

“Yes, and wouldn’t it be pleasant to have your mother-in-law tell you, every time she wanted you to discharge the cook or do without a new gown, that her son would never have married you but for her!” cried the girl with the dimple in her chin.

“Speaking of mothers-in-law,” said the girl with the classic profile, “Nell is to have a new woman in that capacity. I found her crying the other day because she had heard that Madame considered her too domestic to make her son a good wife!”

“Yes, I know,” said the blue-eyed girl, “and did you hear of Alice’s woes? No? Well, you know, she and Morton fell in love at first sight, and became engaged two weeks later. After the engagement was announced, she was invited to visit his people in Iowa, and went in fear and trembling, for she did not know much about them, and Morton could not be there at the time.”

“Hadn’t the courage, you mean,” murmured the girl with the dimple in her chin.

“Very likely, dear. Well, his mother was as bad as Alice had feared. Her ideas were all in direct opposition to Morton’s, and the poor girl almost fretted herself into nervous prostration trying to please them both. After all, when she got home, she found—”

“That she had been mistaken in her feelings for Morton, and it didn’t make any difference whether they were pleased or not!” said the girl with the eyeglasses. “I knew how it would end when you began.”

“No. She discovered that Madame was only his stepmother, after all! Imagine trying to please a mother-in-law and a stepmother combined!”

“I’d rather not fancy it,” said the president, with a shudder. “Girls, I only hope you will be as lucky when you are married as I am, for—”

“You aren’t going to tell us all of Tom’s virtues again, are you?” said the girl with the dimple in her chin, uneasily.

“When my mother-in-law becomes unpleasant, I just ask her to go with me to spend the day with Tom’s grandmother,” went on the president, affecting not to hear the last remark, “she doesn’t dare to refuse, because the old lady has some china which we both want, and she’s afraid I may succeed in wheedling it out of her! It is great fun to hear my own mother-in-law lectured by her mother-in-law on the sins which the former thinks I have appropriated entirely to my own use.”

“But, ah—doesn’t Tom’s mother take it out of you on the way back?” queried the blue-eyed girl.

“No, dear. You see, I am careful not to sit with her in the train, and Tom always meets us at the station; besides, she’s hardly in her usual form, and I could be a match for her,” she added, modestly.

“Oh, girls,” said the brown-eyed blonde, “speaking of mothers-in-law makes me think of wedding presents. Did you—oh, did you hear about the plates I gave Elizabeth?”

“Yes, I did,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin, “and a girl who gives away old Crown Derby like that is either an angel, or not quite sane—I don’t know which!”

“Say anything you like; I haven’t the spirit to reply. And after you’ve heard the story—well, it was this way: I ran across the dozen of them in a little second-hand shop, and the proprietor didn’t seem to know their value and asked a very moderate price.”

“I beg your pardon, dear,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin, “I take back all that I said before!”

“You needn’t. I saw that I could beat him down, so I didn’t take them then, but went in a day or two later, taking Elizabeth along to make sure they were genuine. Really, she does know something about china, though—”

“She doesn’t know anything else,” finished the president. “Well, they were genuine, weren’t they?”

“They were, Elizabeth became so affectionate on the spot that I saw she knew what I wanted them for. I didn’t take them then, but went back the next day to find that the man had raised his price; he said another person wanted them—as if I’d believe that. Well, it went on for a week, until the price demanded was so outrageous that I should never have paid it, but for the fact that Elizabeth had told everybody what lovely Crown Derby plates she was to have, and I wasn’t going to have her say that I couldn’t afford them!”

“I should think not,” said the girl with the eyeglasses; “besides, it is necessary to give Elizabeth a handsome present, since she is marrying a wealthy man.”

“Of course; if he was poor, a very simple thing would—ah, be in better taste, so that the contrast would not be so great.”

“M’hm. Well, I bought the plates, and took them to her myself, because I wanted to see her face when she opened the package.”

“But she wasn’t surprised, was she?” asked the blue-eyed girl.

“Yes, she was. She—well, she was the other person who wanted to buy them, and whose inquiries had trebled the price I had to pay for them!”

“In the face of a tragedy like that, it seems hopeless to offer consolation,” said the girl with the classic profile. “Still, Elizabeth will be obliged to give you a handsome present when you are married.”

“Let us hope that she will not have had time to forget her obligations,” said the blue-eyed girl, sweetly. “Of course, she has a good memory, but—”

“I only hope somebody will give her two chafing-dishes,” broke in the president. “I only have one, and if I was not the sweetest tempered mortal in the world Tom and I would quarrel seriously over it. Perhaps, I ought not to speak of myself in that way, but—”

“You surely ought to know your good points better than anybody else does,” said the girl with the Roman nose.

“Very true, dear. You see, Tom thinks he is a chafing-dish cook, and really he can cook; but the last time he made a rarebit my waitress gave warning, because of the state in which she found the dining-room—which was very mean of her, because we had waited on ourselves to save trouble.”

“Partly for that, and partly because you wanted to talk about Coralie, and her sister is her cook, I remember—I was there,” said the blue-eyed girl.

“Yes, but she didn’t know that we wanted to talk about Coralie, and I told her that it was to save her trouble.”

“Wasn’t that the time that the rarebit made you ill, and the doctor couldn’t come because he, too, had eaten some of it?” asked the girl with the dimple in her chin.

“It was. I told Tom, then, that he must leave out either the doctor or me when he made rarebit again!”

“With the result?” queried the girl with the classic profile.

“That we didn’t speak for three days, dear. It was during that time, that I went to Annie’s chafing-dish party. She wanted me to make a cheese omelette, and I sent over for the dish. My messenger found Tom in the dining-room with a whole party of men—”

“Cooking on your chafing-dish?”

“No. Trying to entertain them while the new waitress hunted for it.”

“But, where was it? You hadn’t taken it?”

“No, dear. The cook had borrowed it for a chafing-dish party of her own, and neglected to mention the fact to either Tom or me!”

“Then, I suppose really that each family should possess two chafing-dishes,” said the brown-eyed blonde, thoughtfully.

“Yes—or none at all,” said the president, sighing.

“Of course I am very much interested in this discussion,” said the girl with the Roman nose; “but I wonder if a thorough knowledge of currency problems will do us any practical good. None of us are earning our own living, and when papa talks about currency problems at home it is only to point the moral that times are hard, so—”

“There is where your knowledge will be most useful,” broke in the girl with the dimple in her chin; “you can bring it out to prove that times are not hard, and run off a lot of statistics to prove your point.”

“But I don’t know any statistics,” wailed the girl with the Roman nose.

“I’m afraid you have not been paying strict attention to-day,” said the president, gravely. “However, if you are in danger of losing in an argument, be sure to say, with a smile of superiority, ‘I suppose you know what the statistics are?’ Now, people are not in the habit of carrying statistics around, like cough-drops, and they will simply give up the battle on the spot. If they don’t, rattle off a lot of figures; they can’t refute them immediately, and if they attempt to do it afterward, you can just say, in a supercilious tone, ‘I thought we settled that matter yesterday.’”

“Well, I declare,” said the girl with the Roman nose, “that is just my own father’s line of argument, and yet it never occurred to me that I could imitate it. I do hope you will take very good care of your health, Evelyn,” she added. “People who are very intellectual are so apt to die young.”

“I shall,” said the president. “I’ve no notion of dying and having Tom a widower while he is still young enough to be attractive. It would not make so much difference after that, for I shall take care that he does not accumulate enough money to make him fascinating at seventy-five!”

“Dear, dear,” sighed the blue-eyed girl, “I wonder why so few men have money until their hair is only a memory!”

“Case of the wind being tempered to the shorn lamb,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin; “after all, a man must sacrifice something on the altar of success.”

“Humph; isn’t it usually his wife?” said the girl with the classic profile.

“Not if she is clever,” said the girl with the eyeglasses. “Girls, I once knew a woman whose husband made a fortune in two years, and he wouldn’t give her more than the merest pittance for dress and entertaining. In fact, the only bills he would pay, without grumbling, were those of the doctor. And what do you think she did? She selected the doctor whose bills were the most outrageous, and settled herself to be a chronic invalid. She said she was determined to get something out of her husband’s fortune.”

“Good,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin; “I do hope she really enjoyed herself after that.”

“I’m afraid not. You see, the doctor seemed anxious to earn his money, and insisted that she had some desperate disease. I doubt if she really enjoyed his subsequent visits.”

“All her husband’s fault, too,” sighed the brown-eyed blonde, “and yet, I doubt if she reproached him for it. It seems to be a woman’s province to suffer in silence.”

“Yes, I’ve often heard my mother make that very remark to my father,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “I had rather not quote his reply. Girls, I heard the funniest story yesterday; Annie wouldn’t tell me who was the heroine of it, really, sometimes she is as provoking as a man. I’ll be even with her, however, for I’ll never rest until I find out who it was, then I shall tell everybody, and Annie will never be able to convince her that she didn’t tell the whole. It seems that this girl had quarreled with the man to whom she was engaged, and a week later she received a letter addressed in his handwriting. She did think of taking it to a mind reader, but it was near the end of the month, and she hadn’t the money, so—”

“By the way, Emily, dear, when can you come to lunch with me?” broke in the girl with the eyeglasses. “I don’t see half as much of you as I’d like to, and—”

“Any day you like, dear. Where was I? Oh! She hadn’t the money, and the tea kettle happened to be handy, so she—”

“But, why not open it with a hair-pin, like any other letter?” asked the blue-eyed girl.

“She wanted to return it unopened if she didn’t like its contents. It proved to be perfectly horrid; he not only didn’t acknowledge that he was in the wrong, but he actually brought forward facts to prove that she was! Of course, no girl would endure that, so—”

“Do you mean to say that Annie told you that?” asked the girl with the eyeglasses. “I didn’t think it possible that any girl—”

“Oh, I don’t see any harm in that; of course every girl wants her own way. Well, she sealed up the letter again, wrote on it, ‘Returned unopened’ and sent it back.”

“H’m,” said the girl with the Roman nose, “I was thinking that might have been Clarissa, but she is too intellectual to do anything so clever. Anyhow, I’m glad she got the better of him.”

“But she didn’t, dear. She discovered, after the messenger had been gone an hour, that she had sealed up the envelope without replacing the letter in it! Can any of you guess who it was that—”

“Not I,” said the blue-eyed girl, “but if I had done such a thing, I should never have trusted Annie with it. Why, are you going, dear?”

“I’m going over to Annie’s this very minute,” said the girl with the eyeglasses. “I—I have something to say to her that will touch even her hardened conscience!”

“So it was Marion, after all,” mused the girl with the dimple in her chin, after the door had closed behind her friend; “well, at any rate, after this Annie will tell me the whole of a story when she begins it.”

“I must say, though, that if I was in her place it would be a long time before I began one,” said the brown-eyed blonde.

“So you, too, have been confiding in Annie?” said the blue-eyed girl, sweetly. “By the way, I am to stay over night with her, but I promise you that whatever she may repeat will be safe with me.”

“While we are discussing currency problems, I want to say what a nuisance the check system is,” said the girl with the classic profile. “I always did hate to get my money in that way, and I had an experience the other day which surely ought to cure my father of giving them to me.”

“Mercy, you weren’t suspected of being a forger, were you?” asked the president, turning pale.

“N—no, I believe not, but—it happened that my father gave me a check when I was going shopping, and I found before I cashed it that I must have five dollars more. Father had gone to Indianapolis, and mother, well—the fact is, that she will not loan me money any more, because I sometimes forget to return it. I didn’t know what to do until I suddenly remembered that Ned Goldie was the person who had to cash the check for me at the bank; then I knew I was safe. Pshaw, it just shows that you can never depend on a man!”

“He surely did not refuse to cash it?” asked the president.

“N—no, but he—girls, I’ll tell you just what I did. I said, ‘By the way, Mr. Goldie, just give me five dollars more, will you? Father can make it right next time he comes in.’ And, if you will credit the fact, he actually said he couldn’t do it. A man with whom I had danced the german the evening before!”

“I never believed Ned Goldie would be so stingy,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “What excuse did he make?”

“Said it was against the rules of the bank, but he would be delighted to lend me the extra five dollars. Did you ever hear of such impertinence in your life? As soon as my father comes home, I shall tell him that he must transfer his account to another bank, for after this I feel that Mr. Goldie is not a person to be trusted with money!”

“Dear, dear,” said the president, gravely, “that is very bad. Don’t mention it outside of the club, girls; for if the bank directors found that he was being rude to the daughter of one of their customers he would lose his position at once. And there may be some apology or explanation he can make to your father, too, dear; though I confess I don’t see what it can be. Well, girls, I’m afraid we must adjourn, and I must say frankly that I am pleased with the work we have done to-day. The only reason that I suggested such a weighty topic for discussion was, that Tom had declared that the club was unable to grapple with it. After that, of course the only thing possible was to show him that he was wrong.”

“Which you can now do conclusively,” said the girl with the Roman nose, “and I am quite sure he will be surprised at the novelty of some of the arguments advanced this afternoon!”

“What is it, dear?” asked the girl with the dimple in her chin, as she and the blue-eyed girl turned the corner. “You have been so bright and cheerful to-day, that I am sure something is seriously wrong.”

“Indeed there is. Jack has behaved abominably! It was enough when he told Effie that Frances is the most amiable girl he ever knew; but—”

“That proves conclusively that he is not engaged to her, dear. No man ever knows anything about a girl’s temper until he is engaged to her.”

“Oh, if you want to defend him, I shall say no more; but I did think—”

“But, I don’t want to defend him. I only—”

“Then, all I’ve got to say, Emily Marshmallow, is that you are prejudiced against the poor fellow. I might have known that from the start. I only wish I had not taken your advice and broken my engagement.”

“But, you didn’t do it on my advice,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin; “it was all done before you said a word to me about it.”

“Well, anyhow, I knew you would advise me to do it; and now you are not satisfied with what I’ve done. But go on, don’t spare me—I am too miserable to care to defend myself! I—I don’t believe I shall live very long, anyhow. I shall tell them to give you my marquise ring, as a token of forgiveness, when I’m gone. I hope you will remember me when you look at it—and be sure to notice if the stones are quite secure in their setting.”

“I w—will; I promise you,” sobbed the girl with the dimple in her chin; “but don’t you think a trip—well a trip to Old Point Comfort might save your life. They tell me it is very gay there now!”

The blue-eyed girl shook her head. “Nothing can save me now, dear; why I can hook all my gowns now without holding my breath, and yesterday I ate no luncheon at all—took nothing between breakfast and dinner but a couple of cream sodas, a box of caramels, and a cup or two of afternoon tea. You know nobody can live long at that rate. Well, I am sorry for Jack Bittersweet when I am gone; a lifetime of remorse and—and Frances is not a pleasant thing to look forward to!”

“You haven’t told me yet about Jack, dear, so—”

“True; and some one should know the true story when I am no more. Here is the place where they make such nice chocolate; let us stop in and drink a cup while I tell you. You take the chair facing the mirror, dear,” she said, as they selected a table, “my personal appearance is no longer a matter of importance to me.”

“You said that Jack—”

“Has behaved abominably. It is a long story, but I—I shall probably never tell you another long story, so you can afford to listen to this one. You know the little beggar boy with the beautiful brown eyes that I told you about a week or two ago?”

“Yes; but about Jack. I—”

“This is about Jack. I told you how I sympathized with that boy’s sad story, and went with him to investigate it, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but you never told me whether his home was—”

“I didn’t get there. He led me through the most awful slums, telling me all the time how his father would beat him, when he failed to bring money home, and how he knew I was the beautiful lady he had dreamed of, as soon as he saw me.”

“Well? Go on, dear.”

“Oh, nothing; only the horrid little wretch suddenly dived down an alley and disappeared; and, oh, Emily, I—I believe he made a face at me as he went! Worse yet, when I felt for my pocketbook it was gone, and I had to walk all the way home!”

“Oh, my goodness, had he taken it?”

“I surely had not given it to him. I had almost forgotten the affair, when the cook came up yesterday to tell me that he was in the kitchen, and had brought my pocketbook back, with a long story about having seen another boy take it. Said he had followed him, when he left me, and taken it away from him, in turn.”

“Well, I declare; and there was all your money intact after you had doubted his honesty!”

“Not a cent of it, dear; and the cook said he was wearing a nice new suit. I told her she had better go back to the kitchen, and count the spoons, and I called loudly after her, ‘Tell him I never want to see his deceitful face again!’ The housemaid had come to the door of my room, too, and was trying to put in a word, but I wouldn’t listen to her.”

“Trying to excuse the little wretch; the idea!”

“That was what I thought. But, oh, Emily, just then the front door closed with a bang which shook the house to its foundations, and then I noticed for the first time that the housemaid was trying to give me a card!”

“Good gracious, Dorothy, you never mean to say—”

“That it was Jack’s! Indeed I do. He had heard me scream over the bannister ‘Tell him to go away; I never want to see his deceitful face again.’ And he—he must have thought I meant it for him. Oh, Emily, was there ever such a miserable girl as I!”