“It was all an accident,” said the brown-eyed blonde; “I stopped for you, Dorothy, on my way to the club. The maid said you had gone already, and I was just coming away when I noticed that your little dog—what is his name? Rover? Ah, Clover! I knew it was something like that—was chewing something at the back of the hall! I went to see what it was, and—” “Oh, my goodness gracious! Not my new sixteen-button gloves,” wailed the blue-eyed girl. “I’ll give that dog away to-morrow!” “No, dear, not your gloves. It was a photograph. Just as I was trying to get the pieces away from him, Ja—I mean Mr. Bittersweet—came up the steps with a huge bunch of violets. He must have seen me standing in the hall; you know the door was open.” “Yes, dear,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin, “that checked gown of yours speaks for itself!” “I—ah, where was I? Oh—he succeeded in getting the fragments away and—really, it was too funny! It turned out to be a photograph of himself! I told him that I was almost sure that you didn’t give it to the dog purposely, Dorothy; but I am afraid I didn’t quite convince him.” “Indeed; and where are the violets?” asked the girl with the dimple in her chin; “you don’t seem to be wearing them!” “Why, er—no. Ja—I mean Mr. Bittersweet—threw them at the dog. You will find them right by the stairway, Dorothy, dear; but I’m afraid they are not in very good condition. What is to-day’s topic, Evelyn?” “‘The Use and Abuse of Political Power,’” said the president, in a faint voice. “Will somebody open the window, please; I need air!” “Oh, Evelyn,” said the girl with the Roman nose, after the president had announced that she felt better, “I do hope you are not sitting up at night studying, and that sort of thing.” “Why, er—no, I believe not. The fact is I’ve been going to a good many dances of late on Tom’s account.” “But Tom doesn’t go, does he?” “No. B—but everybody knows how fond of dancing I am; and if I didn’t go they would say he kept me at home. I don’t want Tom to pose as a tyrant, you know!” “Of course not. You—” “Yes. The only thing which makes me feel uncomfortable is the angelic way in which he bears my absence. It isn’t like Tom, and—” “Clarence—my cousin you know—was saying only the other day, that he thought you an angel to allow Tom and his friends to smoke in the drawing-room, just because you happened to be out,” said the girl with the Roman nose. “I wonder if that—” “To smoke in the drawing-room!” shrieked the president, turning pale. “I’ll go home this minute, and tell him what I think of such a proceeding. No, I won’t, either; he is at the office, and it would not do any good! I never suspected such a thing and—” “Oh, well, then the smoke couldn’t have done the rugs and curtains much harm, after all, if you never noticed the odor.”