“And yet you told me the other day that Annie had no originality; I’ve learned this since then,” whispered the girl with the dimple in her chin to the blue-eyed girl.

“I only meant in the matter of gowns, dear,” was the apologetic reply. “By the[49] way, Frances seems not quite herself, to-day.”

“I’ve noticed that. I fancied you might have said something to her which—”

“Oh, never; why, I consider Frances one of my dearest friends—”

“I know that, dear. But what is the use of a friend, if you can’t be disagreeable to her sometimes?”

“True. I sometimes think it is one reason that married women keep their friends longer. They have husbands to—”

“Act as lightning rods and carry off their displeasure! Yes; it must really be quite a convenience.”

“Very likely. Don’t you feel, after all, that Jack—”

“Jack? Oh, I suppose you mean Mr. Bittersweet! No, I don’t feel any such thing, Emily Marshmallow, and you are no friend of mine if you champion him after the way he has behaved to me!”

“I—I was only going to mention that he had resigned from that new club. He told me so himself.”[50]

“Oh, he has, has he? Well, isn’t that just like a man? And after he had paid all his dues for a year in advance, too, and gotten nothing out of it!”

“Perhaps he—he did it hoping to please you, dear.”

“His actions are perfectly indifferent to me, I assure you. Besi