in London."

At this startling announcement, uttered with every appearance of pride,
the suffragette's hearers displayed their amazement by exclamations and
gestures. Mrs. Carrington especially made manifest the fact that she had
scant patience with this manner of martyrdom in the cause of woman's
emancipation.

"My dear Mrs. Flynn," she said, with a hint of contempt in her voice,
"here in America, we do not think that getting into jail is necessarily
a cause for pride." There were murmurs of assent from most of the
others; but Mrs. Flynn herself was in no wise daunted.

"Well, then, it should be," she retorted, briskly. "Zeal is the
watchword!"

"I think that Mrs. Flynn should be president," Miss Johnson cried with
sudden enthusiasm. "She has suffered in the cause!"

"Oh, for that matter," interjected Mrs. Morton flippantly, "most of us
are married." It was known to all those whom she addressed, save perhaps
the Englishwoman, that at the age of forty Mrs. Morton had undergone two
divorces, and that she was now living wretchedly with a third husband,
so she spoke with the authority of one having had sufficient experience.

But Mrs. Flynn was too much interested in her own harrowing experiences
to be diverted by cynical raillery.

"The last time I went to jail," she related, "I had chained myself to
the gallery in the House of Commons, and, when they tried to release me,
I bit a policeman--hard!"

"Oh, you man-eater!" It was Cicily who uttered the exclamation,
half-reproachfully, half-banteringly.

"I fail to see why, if one should prefer even Chicago roast beef to an
Irish policeman, that should be held against one." This was Mrs.
Carrington's indignant comment on the narrative of the mordant martyr.

The remark affected Mrs. Flynn, however, in a fashion totally
unexpected. She cried out in genuine horror and disgust over the
suggested idea.

"Good heavens! Do you imagine I would ever bite an Irish policeman?"

"If not," Mrs. Carrington rejoined slyly, "you will have very small
opportunity in New York for the exercise of your very peculiar talents."

Cicily interposed a remark concerning the appetizing charms of some of
the mounted policemen. It seemed to her that the conversation between
the two older women had reached a point where interruption were the
course of prudence. "I think we had better do some more business, now,"
she added hastily, with an appealing glance toward her aunt.

Mrs. Delancy rose to the emergency on the instant.

"By all means," she urged. "Let us get on with the business. We haven't
been going ahead very fast, it seems to me. Why not elect the officers
right away?"

Once again, the entire company became agog with interest over the
project of securing duly authorized officials. There were murmured
conversations, confidential whisperings. As Ruth Howard earnestly
declared, it was so exciting--a real election. A stealthy canvas of
candidates was in full swing. The names of Mrs. Flynn and of Mrs.
Carrington were heard oftenest. Incidentally, certain sentences threw
light on individual methods of determining executive merit. A prim
spinster shook her head violently over some suggestion from the woman
beside her. "No, my dear," she replied aggressively, "I certainly shall
not vote for her--vote for a woman who wears a transformation? No,
indeed!"... Cicily improved the interval of general bustle to inquire
secretly of her aunt as to the possible shininess of her nose. "It
always gets shiny when I get excited," she explained, ruefully. As a
matter of fact, there was nothing whatever the matter with that dainty
feature, which had a fascination all its own by reason of the fact that
one was forever wondering whether it was classically straight or
up-tilted just the least infinitesimal fraction.

It was Mrs. Morton who first took energetic action toward an election.
She stood up, and spoke with a tone of finality:

"I think that dear Mrs. Carrington would make a splendid officer. I
nominate dear Mrs. Carrington for our president."

"Did you hear that, Mrs. Carrington?" Cicily inquired, with a pleased
smile for the one thus honored. "You're nominated."

"Oh, it's so thrilling!" Ruth Howard exclaimed, with irrepressible
enthusiasm.

But Miss Johnson, to whom Ruth particularly addressed herself, had on
occasion been unmercifully snubbed by Mrs. Carrington. In consequence,
now, she showed no sign of sympathy with her companion's emotion. On the
contrary, she sniffed indignantly, and muttered something about "that
woman!"

Meantime, Mrs. Morton was waxing restless over the fact that things
remained at a standstill, despite the nomination she had made. She rose
to her feet, and surveyed the company with a glance eloquent of haughty
surprise.

"I am waiting for a second to my motion," she remarked, icily. Then, as
there was no audible response to this information, she added with rising
indignation: "Well, really!" There was a wealth of contemptuous reproach
in the tone.

The effect on the susceptible Cicily was instantaneous. With her
customary impulsiveness, and her eagerness to do the right thing for any
and all persons, she felt that she herself had been woefully remiss in
not having hurried to Mrs. Morton's support at once. So, to make amends,
she spoke with vivacity:

"Oh, I second it!... Mrs. Carrington," she continued, turning to the
gratified candidate, "you're seconded." She was rewarded for her conduct
by a stately bow of thanks from Mrs. Morton. Half a dozen others,
taking their cue from the presiding officer, noisily cried out in
seconding the candidacy of Mrs. Carrington, whereat Mrs. Morton grew
flushed with pleasure, and was moved to consummate the affair without a
moment's delay.

"I move that the election of Mrs. Carrington as president be now made,
and also that the election be made unanimous," she demanded, with much
unction in her voice. She smiled persuasively at the presiding officer
as she concluded: "Won't you put that motion, my dear?"

Cicily rose to the occasion with an access of becoming dignity.

"It is moved and seconded," she announced loudly, "that Mrs. Carrington
be elected president of this club. All in favor of this motion--"

"One moment, please," Miss Johnson interrupted, excitedly. "Madam
Chairman, I move that Mrs. Flynn, the great, the tried, the proven, the
trusted crusader in the cause of women, from England, be elected
president, and that her election be made unanimous." She paused to turn
to Ruth, whom she addressed in a fierce whisper: "If you don't second
me, I'll never speak to you again."

"Oh, I second you," Ruth cried, anxiously. "Of course, I second you."

But, by this time, Cicily had come to a realization of the fact that the
other women present were every whit as ignorant of parliamentary law as
was she herself. So, in this emergency, she did not scruple to make
audacious retort. She answered with exceeding blandness:

"But, you see, Miss Johnson, there's already a motion before the house."

Thereupon, Mrs. Morton hastened valiantly to her own support.

"Yes, indeed," she declared, haughtily; "my motion was first. I must
insist that it be voted upon. If Miss Johnson wished to have an imported
English president for our American society, she should have nominated
Mrs. Flynn first." She made direct appeal to the presiding officer. "Am
I not right, dear?"

Cicily beamed on Mrs. Morton, and was about to reply, when a sudden
thought came to her that did greater credit to her ingenuity than to her
executive knowledge. Forthwith, she beamed, somewhat hypocritically, on
Miss Johnson in turn.

"Yes, certainly," she affirmed; "I'm sure you're both quite right."

"Thank you, Madam Chairman, for agreeing with me," Miss Johnson replied,
placated by Cicily's unexpected amiability toward her. "My motion also
is before the house, and I insist that it be voted on. Mrs. Flynn has
been seconded."

There was a spirit of hostility in the manner with which Miss Johnson
and Mrs. Morton faced each other that boded ill for peace. The rival
candidates sat in rigid erectness, disdainfully aloof while their
supporters wrangled. The whisperings of the others suggested a growing
acrimoniousness of debate. That earnest maiden, Ruth, was alarmed by the
tension of strife.

"I think I'd rather go," she faltered. "I'm afraid you're going to
quarrel, Helen."

But the resources of Cicily's inspiration were by no means ended. She
waved a conciliatory hand toward the adversaries, and spoke with an air
of finality that produced an instantaneous effect as of oil on troubled
waters.

"I'll tell you: I'll put one motion, and the other can be an amendment."
At this profound suggestion, the whole company breathed a sigh of
relief. Only Ruth appeared somewhat puzzled.

"What's an amendment?" she questioned frankly, while the others regarded
her with evident scorn for such ignorance.

"An amendment, Ruth," the presiding officer explained patiently,
"is--is--oh, just listen, and don't interrupt the proceedings, and
you'll know all about it in a few minutes." She beamed once again, first
on Mrs. Morton and then on Miss Johnson. "Which of you would rather be
the amendment?" she inquired.

Mrs. Morton, as became her years, was first to make reply.

"It's entirely immaterial to me, just so my motion is put."

Miss Johnson adopted a manner that was not without signs of heroic
self-sacrifice.

"I'll be the amendment," were her words. With that, she bowed very
formally to Mrs. Morton, who returned the salute with a fine dignity,
after which the two at last subsided into their chairs.

Cicily was elated with the subtle manner in which she had evolved order
out of chaos. Her eyes glowed with pride, and the flush in her cheeks
deepened. There was an added music in her voice, as she once more
addressed the company.

"Splendid!" she ejaculated. "Now, all in favor of Mrs. Motion's
morton--I mean Mrs. Morton's motion, please say ay!"

In a clear, ringing voice she led the chorus in the affirmative. Yes,
every woman present, including the presiding officer, voted an
enthusiastic ay, whereupon Cicily declared the motion carried; and Mrs.
Morton rose and said: "Thank you, ladies." Next, Mrs. Carrington stood
up, placed a hand on her heart, and expressed her appreciation of the
honor done her: "I deeply thank you, ladies." The incident was fittingly
concluded by an outburst of applause in which all the club joined,
although Ruth beat her palms in rather a bewildered manner.... Cicily
immediately entered on the new phase of the situation.

"Now, all in favor of Miss Johnson's amendment, please say ay," she
directed. Again, she led the chorus in the affirmative, and the entire
company joined in the vote without a dissenting voice. "Amendment
carried," the presiding officer announced, gleefully. It was now the
turn of Miss Johnson to rise and offer her thanks, and Mrs. Flynn
followed, saying, very neatly: "From over the sea, I thank you." The
usual applause was of the heartiest.... But Cicily was still energetic.

"Now, all in favor of the motion and of the amendment, please say ay,"
she requested. For the third time, she led the chorus, and the vote was
unopposedly affirmative. "The motion and the amendment are carried
unanimously," Cicily announced, and the hand clapping sounded a happy
content on the part of the Civitas Club.

Afterward, came a little intermission of conversation in which was
expressed much appreciation of the efficiency of the club in carrying on
its session. "It all goes to show how businesslike women can be," Mrs.
Carrington remarked, triumphantly. Mrs. Flynn was even more emphatic.
"I've never seen a meeting more gloriously typical of our great cause."
The tribute was welcomed with a buzz of assent.... But, finally, there
came a lull in the talking. It was broken by Mrs. Delancy, who spoke
thoughtlessly out of a confused mind, with no suspicion as to the
sinister effect to be wrought by her words:

"Who's elected?" was her simple question.

There was a moment of amazed silence, in which the members of the club
stared at one another with widened eyes. It was broken very speedily,
however, by Mrs. Carrington, who rose to her feet with more activity of
movement than was customary to her dignified bearing.

"I have the honor," she stated, sharply.

Instantly, Mrs. Flynn, the militant suffragette, was up, her face
belligerent.

"Pardon me, but the honor belongs to me," she snapped, regarding the
first claimant with a fierce indignation that was returned in kind. Most
of the others were too confounded for speech, but Mrs. Morton rose to
support her candidate's claims.

"Pray pardon me," she began placatingly, "but probably Mrs. Flynn does
not understand. The interpretation of parliamentary law in England may
be quite different. Probably, it is. The customs of that country vary
widely from ours in many respects. So, they probably do in the matter of
elections in clubs. Now, I belong to ten clubs--American clubs--and I
assure you that, according