Mostyn took the man in with a sweeping glance. He was nice-looking,
about twenty-five years of age, tall and slender, and had a clean-
shaven intellectual face which was now full of suppressed merriment.
He rose with considerable ease and dignity and called the house to
order by rapping sharply on Dolly's desk with the brass top of an
inkstand. He announced the subject which was to be debated with great
gravity, adding with a smile that, of course, it was only through
special favor to the only lady member of the club that such a topic
had been selected. But--and he smiled down on his amused colleagues--
that lady member had lately shown such strong tendencies toward the
new-woman movement that, one and all, the members hoped that she might
be convinced of the fallacy of her really deplorable position.

"Scamp!" Mostyn heard Dolly exclaim, and, glancing at her profile, he
saw a half-smiling expression on her flushed face. "That is the way he
always talks," she whispered in the banker's ear. "His great forte is
making fun."

Wilks's speech consumed half an hour, during the whole of which Mostyn
noticed that Dolly sat as if in restless thought, now and then hastily
penciling a few words on a scrap of paper in her hand. At the
conclusion of Wilks's speech there was great applause, during which
Dolly looked about the room, seeing the hands of all the women as
active as the wings of humming-birds hovering over flowers.

"Just look at the silly things!" she sniffed, as she caught Mostyn's
eye. "They are voting against me already. They are as changeable as
March winds. Look at Mrs. Timmons; she is actually shaking her fist at
me. When I speak I always keep my eye on somebody in the crowd. I'll