“Hear, hear!” cried the girl with the Roman nose, who had been furtively consulting her book on parliamentary usage. “Oh, girls, have you heard that the man Nell expects to marry is a politician?”
“No; but it seems a very suitable match,” said the president, “for I don’t know a girl anywhere who can shake hands as gracefully as she does.”
“Dear me, Evelyn, how generous you are,” said the girl with the eyeglasses. “I believe you could find something nice to say about everybody.”
“I really believe I could,” said the president, modestly, “and, after all, it is easy enough, for if you don’t like the subject of your remarks, you can always say it in such a tone that it does more harm than good.”
“You are so just,” sighed the girl with the classic profile, “and yet, men always declare there is no real fellowship among women!”
“They confuse their own wish with the true state of affairs,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “They know that one woman is often more than a match for the whole male sex and when a number of women band together they—”
“Usually get more than they want,” said the president. “I often wonder, though, why it is always so much easier to convince other men that you are in the right than it is to persuade the men of your own family?”
“Perhaps we put it in a more flattering way to strangers,” suggested the girl with the dimple in her chin, “we just can’t help it, though, for we can’t always be—”
“Looking up?” said the girl with the Roman nose. “Of course not—if we were our necks would grow so stiff that—”
“We could never see our own boots; besides, we would be such frights that no man would look at us and so—”