“Oh, it was only a moment. The parlor was full of people, and I just stepped out with Frank a moment to—to ask him how he expects to vote at the coming election.” “I thought you both looked as if you were discussing politics. Of course, he had to think well on the merits of the opposing candidates before he gave an opinion and—” “Oh, pshaw, it is impossible to know how one catches cold, and it does one no good to know, anyhow,” said the girl with the Roman nose. “Unless it is some one else’s fault,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “I have a cold myself, and I don’t dare to mention the fact to my family. They are so unsympathetic that they—” “Would want you to wrap up and wear overshoes if it was July,” said the president. “They would, they would,” wailed the girl with the eyeglasses, “well, I just knew that I had to be well in time to go to Mrs. Brownsmith’s card party. The way that Marie tries to attract Frank’s attention is too dreadful, and I knew she would be there.” “If she had to unscrew her coffin lid to get out,” said the blue-eyed girl. “M’hm. They wanted me to take all sorts of horrid remedies at home. I wouldn’t do it, though; the very idea made me cross. Finally, on Wednesday, Frank dropped in to see if I was better and said I must take some quinine. Of course, I couldn’t refuse and hurt his feelings, especially as he remained all the afternoon and watched me take it. By his advice, I took a large dose of it that night, and when I woke up in the morning my cold was almost gone, but oh, I had the queerest buzzing in my ears!” “Oh, well, nobody could see that,” said the president, “so you—” “Kept on taking it all day, and was able to go to the card party, after all; though the quinine had made me as deaf as a statue. It made little difference at first, because Marie kept close at my elbow, and Frank and I were not alone a moment. I couldn’t get rid of her at all until, just as mamma said she would not wait another second Mrs. Brownsmith called Marie to her, and Frank—” “Improved the moment,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “What did he say?” “I—I don’t know,” sobbed the girl with the eyeglasses. “He whispered, and I couldn’t hear. And before I could ask him to repeat, Marie was at my side. As he put me into the carriage, he said: ‘You will let me have my answer by messenger to-morrow, won’t you?’ And I—I don’t know w-whether he ask-asked me to marry him, or only to go to the m-matinee!” “You poor, dear martyr,” cried the president. “Dorothy, dear, you had better not take any more of those tablets, because—” “But dear, Dorothy is in no danger of having to answer such an important question,” said the brown-eyed blonde, sweetly. “Very true, dear; I have answered it already—in the negative,” said the blue-eyed girl. “Ah, you can never know, Frances, how painful it is to be obliged to tell a man who loves you that there is no hope.”