“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.