“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.