“And it is perfectly natural that she should,” said the girl with the eyeglasses. “The only way we can make the men give us what we really want, is by asking for a great deal more, so that they will think themselves lucky if we compromise on what we originally decided to have.” “Hear! hear!” said the girl with the Roman nose, making an entry into her note-book, “I’ve been acting on that theory all my life, but I never thought to formulate it.” “Pardon me for the suggestion,” said the president, “but I hope you are not in the habit of leaving that note-book around where any man can see it.” “It wouldn’t make any difference if I did, dear. I went to such a fashionable school that no one but myself can ever read my chirography—I can’t myself, if it was written long enough ago for me to have quite forgotten what I said.” “Then, you needn’t be uneasy about any old love letters which have not been returned,” said the brown-eyed blonde. “Not at all. Nobody could tell whether I had written a promise of undying affection or a recipe for hair tonic.” “I do wish my father had sent me to the same school,” said the brown-eyed blonde, sorrowfully. “Pshaw, old letters don’t tell half as many tales as old photographs,” said the girl with the eyeglasses, sighing. “I know a girl who had been engaged to a man who returned everything she had given him except one photograph. She couldn’t refuse to let him keep it when he begged so hard.” “He had probably lost it, and didn’t know how to account for its absence,” said the president. “No, he hadn’t. Well, six years later, she became engaged to another man. I fancy she must have told him some stories about her age.” “It’s always better to understate rather than overstate a case,” said the blue-eyed girl. “So my old nurse used to say. Well, when she was about to be married, her old lover sent her a beautiful present, and with it an envelope addressed to her fiancé.” “Which she should have opened herself,” said the president, promptly. “He happened to be present when the box was opened, dear. The envelope contained the photograph taken seven years before—” “Why didn’t she say that—” “It was a picture of her elder sister? She did, dear. What really caused the trouble was her own name, and the date on the back of it, coupled with the statement that it was taken on her twenty-second birthday!” “Oh, my goodness, how sly men are?” said the president. “And to think that never, as long as she lived, could that girl tell him what she really thought of him!” “I know. She used to say that she sometimes regretted that she _hadn’t_ married him.” “Oh, well, he is probably married to somebody else, by this time, anyhow,” said the president, “though I doubt if his wife would fully appreciate the enormity of his behavior, since it was toward another woman.”