"Got the mate to that?" Webb asked easily. "I don't like to see fine tobacco-smoke floatin' about in hot weather unless I'm helpin' to make it."
Mostyn gave him a cigar. "What is this I hear Of your club-meeting to-night?" he asked, smiling at Dolly.
"It is an impromptu affair," she answered, almost reluctantly. Then she began to smile, and her color rose. "The truth is, the whole thing started as a joke on me. I could have backed down if I had wished, but I didn't, and now it is too late."
"You'll think it's too late"—Webb was drawing at his cigar, which he held against the fire of Mostyn's—"when them fellers git through arguin', an' you the only one on your side!"
"How is that?" Mostyn asked, wonderingly.
Dolly averted her eyes. "Why," she explained, "for a long time the club has threatened to select some subject to be discussed only between Warren Wilks and myself. I didn't think much about it at the time and said it would suit me, thinking, of course, that it would only be heard by a few club-members, but now what do you think they have done?"
"I can't imagine," Mostyn answered, heartily enjoying her gravity of tone and manner.
"Why, they are not only holding me to my agreement, but they have selected a topic for discussion which of all subjects under the sun is completely beyond me. They are doing it for a joke, and they expect me to acknowledge defeat. I've been at the point all day of ignoring the whole business, and yet somehow it nearly kills me to give in. I laugh when I think about it, for the joke is on me, sure enough."
"But the subject," Mostyn urged her, "what is it?"
"Have women the right to vote?'" dropped from the girl's smiling lips.