“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—”