The living-room had a low ceiling and diamond-paned windows. The large centre-table was covered with books, the chairs were deep and comfortable, and on the wide couch opposite the fireplace lay two great, sleek gray cats curled up, fast asleep.
“What are your cats’ names?” asked Alice, who, not being a near neighbour, did not know so much of Betty’s home and pets as did Elsa.
“Romulus and Remus,” said Betty. “But we must talk about the club.”
“I don’t believe we are going to have any club,” said Elsa, beginning to stroke the cats, who purred in lazy content, without opening their eyes.
“Then it is your own fault,” exclaimed Betty, with a flash of temper.
“Why?” Elsa left off petting the cats and sat up very straight on the sofa.
“Because you give up so soon,” replied Betty.
Elsa suddenly bent low over the cats until her golden hair hid her face, but she made no answer.
“I wish we had some one older to manage for us,” sighed Alice, turning over the pages of a picture-book on the table.
“I tell you what we can do,” cried Betty, jumping up from the black bearskin hearth-rug where she had settled herself momentarily. “We can ask Miss Ruth Warren to be in the club!”