"A—debating club," she answered. "Good-night."
"Ha, ha, ha! I like that."
But she was gone with a look of pleading cast on Driscoll as she went—a look that was like a prayer.
Gano felt absurdly piqued to know more, not of the foolish club, but of this fellow-being.
"You say you've been?"
He fitted a new pen in the holder.
"Oh yes; but they didn't do anything very remarkable the night I was there. They meet in Mary's lodging. There were only three then. She says there are sixteen now, two or three of 'em men, in spite of it's being 'only for women.' Can't think where she puts 'em."
"What did they debate?"
"Oh, some rot about social duties. They really go to sit by a fire and get a cup of hot tea. But it's a very good thing," he added, with a sudden rush of loyalty. "It's grown out of Mary's keeping one or two women from going the primrose path to the everlasting bonfire."
His desire to "guy" the club seemed to have gone out with the founder's going. The same thing had happened before.