“Why, neither do I,” said the brown-eyed blonde, “but it must be the same one, for we both live on the north side!”
“I really don’t know, either,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “I don’t see what difference it makes though, for I could ask the clerk at the corner drug store if I needed particularly to know.”
“Of course you could,” said the president, “and so could I. But, Tom was awfully unpleasant—he couldn’t have been more so if we had been married twenty years instead of two. He said he didn’t see any use in my poking about among the civic organizations of ancient Greece, when I did not know what ward I lived in.”
“Humph! I suppose next thing he will be saying that he doesn’t see any use in the Teacup Club,” said the girl with the classic profile, in sarcastic tones. “A man will say anything when he is angry.”
“Humph! I fancy he will hardly say anything like that, dear. He knows it has its use, if it is only to make me look more leniently on his own club. When we first organized it he complained a good deal about the demands it made on my time and attention, and I just said: ‘Oh, very well, dear, let us both give up our clubs, and spend all our spare time at home together.’ After that, he held his peace on the subject.”
“But you wouldn’t have given it up, would you?” asked the brown-eyed blonde, anxiously.
“Of course not—but Tom didn’t know that. By the way, Emily, what is making Dorothy so late to-day?”
“I fancy she is engaged,” replied the girl with the dimple in her chin, demurely; “at least Jack Bittersweet was on his way to call on her a couple of hours ago, and I suppose—Pardon me, Frances, did you speak?”
“I—I was about to say, ‘how nice’—for Dorothy, I mean. By the way, girls, I—I am thinking of going to Omaha for a nice, long visit as soon as I can get ready.”
“But I thought you had already refused Lola’s invitation,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin.