“Ye—es. Especially as he offered to have my bicycle repaired; papa having declared the last time that he wouldn’t pay another cent for repairs, if it stood in the attic all summer!” “That was good of you. Some girls would not have been so just,” said the president. “Oh, don’t praise me too much,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin, modestly. “Nobody who knew me happened to be in sight when it occurred—else I might not have let him off so easily.” “Dear me, how modest you are,” said the blue-eyed girl. “I never knew a human being with so little vanity in my life.” “Nor I,” said the girl with the classic profile. “Did I tell you about Florence’s latest trouble? No? Well, you know that horrid Mr. Brownsmith, who rides beautifully, begged to be allowed to teach her. She accepted, and as soon as she had learned to ride well, she wondered how to get rid of him.” “Why didn’t she ask her father to—” “Forbid him to the house? That’s just what she did. I believe you have heard this story before.” “Yes. And her father?” queried the girl with the Roman nose. “Absolutely refused to do it. Said he was the finest young man he knew, and only wondered that he cared for her society.” “Well, I declare! And Florence?” “Would have had to treat him just like anybody else, if he hadn’t heard all about it, and stopped calling of his own accord. Now, every time her father sees him, he asks why he hasn’t been to the house for so long!” “How unreasonable men are to be sure—Florence’s father, in particular. Why, he actually refuses to speak to Dickey Doolittle, whose third cousin married a British baronet, and who has all his garments made in London!” said the president. “I know—he says it makes no difference to him _where_ Dickey gets his clothes; so long as he pays for them promptly,” said the blue-eyed girl. “Which is the last thing Dickey would even think of doing,” said the girl with the Roman nose. “Oh, well, he may _think_ of it,” said the girl with the classic profile. “I suppose that even Dickey thinks sometimes.” “You have been reading the comic papers again,” said the president, severely. “Whenever I hear old jokes I—” “No, dear,” said the girl with the classic profile, sweetly, “but I had a long talk with your husband only yesterday.” “Dear me,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin, rousing herself from a reverie, “I’m afraid I’ve not been paying attention to the discussion. I can’t even remember whether we decided that women should be legislators or not.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” said the president. “I fear it is too late to go over the discussion again for your benefit. I thought you were taking notes of it as we went along—I saw you jotting something down in your note-book.” “That was only my calculations for a bicycle suit. There must be something wrong about them, too, for I make it twenty-seven dollars, and I only have twenty-one dollars and thirty-eight cents to my name, even if somebody pays my car-fare home.”