“Well, I declare,” said the girl with the Roman nose, “that is just my own father’s line of argument, and yet it never occurred to me that I could imitate it. I do hope you will take very good care of your health, Evelyn,” she added. “People who are very intellectual are _so_ apt to die young.” “I shall,” said the president. “I’ve no notion of dying and having Tom a widower while he is still young enough to be attractive. It would not make so much difference after that, for I shall take care that he does not accumulate enough money to make him fascinating at seventy-five!” “Dear, dear,” sighed the blue-eyed girl, “I wonder why so few men have money until their hair is only a memory!” “Case of the wind being tempered to the shorn lamb,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin; “after all, a man must sacrifice something on the altar of success.” “Humph; isn’t it usually his wife?” said the girl with the classic profile. “Not if she is clever,” said the girl with the eyeglasses. “Girls, I once knew a woman whose husband made a fortune in two years, and he wouldn’t give her more than the merest pittance for dress and entertaining. In fact, the only bills he would pay, without grumbling, were those of the doctor. And what do you think she did? She selected the doctor whose bills were the most outrageous, and settled herself to be a chronic invalid. She said she was determined to get something out of her husband’s fortune.” “Good,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin; “I do hope she really enjoyed herself after that.” “I’m afraid not. You see, the doctor seemed anxious to earn his money, and insisted that she had some desperate disease. I doubt if she really enjoyed his subsequent visits.” “All her husband’s fault, too,” sighed the brown-eyed blonde, “and yet, I doubt if she reproached him for it. It seems to be a woman’s province to suffer in silence.” “Yes, I’ve often heard my mother make that very remark to my father,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “I had rather not quote his reply. Girls, I heard the funniest story yesterday; Annie wouldn’t tell me who was the heroine of it, really, sometimes she is as provoking as a man. I’ll be even with her, however, for I’ll never rest until I find out who it was, then I shall tell everybody, and Annie will never be able to convince her that she didn’t tell the whole. It seems that this girl had quarreled with the man to whom she was engaged, and a week later she received a letter addressed in his handwriting. She did think of taking it to a mind reader, but it was near the end of the month, and she hadn’t the money, so—” “By the way, Emily, dear, when can you come to lunch with me?” broke in the girl with the eyeglasses. “I don’t see half as much of you as I’d like to, and—” “Any day you like, dear. Where was I? Oh! She hadn’t the money, and the tea kettle happened to be handy, so she—” “But, why not open it with a hair-pin, like any other letter?” asked the blue-eyed girl.