"By no means," snapped Mrs. Tweedie.
"Oh, ma!" Fanny exclaimed, "I don't know anything about Ibsen, but do you remember 'The Lady of Lyons?' We saw it in Boston. It was about the loveliest girl—a princess—who married a labourer's son disguised as a prince, and when she found it out he went into the army, and then came home as a general or something, and they made up."
"Yes, I remember," replied Mrs. Tweedie. "Let me see, who wrote it?"
"Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer," said Miss Sawyer, promptly. "It's a beautiful play containing some of the sweetest love-scenes imaginable."
"Has it got anything to do with a circus?" asked Mrs. Stout, innocently, having in mind, no doubt, the lady in a cage of lions with the "Ding-a-ling Circus," that came to Manville every year.
"Circus, indeed not!" said Mrs. Jones. "Lyons is the name of a city in France."
"Oh," was all that Mrs. Stout had to say in reply. She was gaining knowledge rapidly, and realized it. Only the night before she had said to her husband that "if the club don't go up I expect to know somethin' sometime."
Formal suggestions and discussion gave way to general chatting. They were not getting ahead at all, and Mrs. Tweedie became annoyed. As she sat watching them, a new and alarming thought came suddenly into her mind, and a look of consternation spread over her face.
"Ladies!" she exclaimed, in a choking voice, "it has just occurred to me that in every play that has been suggested there are MALE CHARACTERS!" The silence that followed Mrs. Tweedie's statement was cruelly disheartening. What a horrible thought, such a dejected-looking gathering of women was never seen before.
"Is it possible!" gasped Mrs. Jones, who was the first to recover from the shock. "Is it possible that in every classic there is a man?"