“I think you’ve said it all, for all of us, Mary!” Mrs. Carew said, when some affectionate applause had subsided.  “I think things were probably different, a few generations ago,” she went on, “but nowadays when fashions are so arbitrary, and change so fast, really and honestly, some of us, whose incomes are limited, will have to stop somewhere.  Why, the very children expect box-parties, and motor-trips, and caterers’ suppers, in these days.  And one wouldn’t mind, if it left time for home life, and reading, and family intercourse, but it doesn’t.  We don’t know what our children are studying, what they’re thinking about, or what life means to them at all, because we are too busy answering the telephone, and planning clothes, and writing formal notes, and going to places we feel we ought to be seen in.  I’m having more fun than I had in years, helping our children plan some abridged plays from Shakespeare, with the Burgoyne girls, for this winter, and I’m perfectly astonished, even though I’m their mother, at their enjoyment of it, and at my own.  Mr. Carew himself, who never takes much interest in that sort of thing, asked me why they couldn’t give them for the Old Paloma Girls’ Club, if they get a club room.  I didn’t know he even knew anything about our club plans.  I said, ’George, are you willing to have Jeannette get interested in that crowd?’ and he said, ’Finest thing in the world for her!’ and I don’t know,” finished Mrs. Carew, thoughtfully, “but what he’s right.”

“I’m all for it,” said breezy Mrs. Lloyd, “I don’t imagine I’d be any good at actually talking to them, but I would go to the dances, and introduce people, and trot partners up to the wallflowers—­”

There was more laughter, and then Mrs. Adams said briskly: 

“Well, let’s take an informal vote!”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Sue,” said Mrs. White, generously, “I think I am the only one of us who believes in preserving the tradition of the dear old club, and I must bow to the majority, of course.  Perhaps it will be a little hard to see strangers there; our pretty floors ruined, and our pretty walls spotted, but—­” an eloquent shrug, and a gesture of her pretty hands finished the sentence with the words, “isn’t that the law?”

And upon whole-hearted applause for Mrs. White, Mrs. Carew tactfully introduced the subject of tea.

They were all chatting amicably enough in the dining-room a few minutes later when George Carew and Barry Valentine came in.  Barry, who seemed excited, exhilarated and tired, had come to borrow a typewriter from the Carews.  He responded to sympathetic inquiries, that he had been working like a madman since noon, and that there would be an issue of the Mail ready for them in the morning.  He said, “everyone had been simply corking about everything,” and it began to look like smooth sailing now.  In the few minutes that he waited for young George Carew to find the typewriter and bring it down to him, a fresh interruption occurred in the entrance of old Mrs. Apostleman.