“Have you a cold?” said the brown-eyed blonde, “why, I didn’t notice it when I met you in the restaurant this morning.”
“Didn’t you, dear? But then you are not very observant. You had not even noticed that there was a wrinkle in the waist of your new gown, until I pointed it out to you. Evelyn, dear, mightn’t I take another of your quinine tablets now? I really think that I am feeling better already.”
“Do not take too much of it, dear, if you value your peace of mind,” said the girl with the eyeglasses. “I’ve had such an awful cold this week. I don’t know how I ever caught it, unless it was sitting in that hot church on Sunday. Mamma would have me go, and I—”
“Perhaps you caught it standing on your front steps Monday evening,” suggested the girl with the classic profile. “I saw you, as I passed, and wondered how long—”
“Oh, it was only a moment. The parlor was full of people, and I just stepped out with Frank a moment to—to ask him how he expects to vote at the coming election.”
“I thought you both looked as if you were discussing politics. Of course, he had to think well on the merits of the opposing candidates before he gave an opinion and—”
“Oh, pshaw, it is impossible to know how one catches cold, and it does one no good to know, anyhow,” said the girl with the Roman nose.
“Unless it is some one else’s fault,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “I have a cold myself, and I don’t dare to mention the fact to my family. They are so unsympathetic that they—”
“Would want you to wrap up and wear overshoes if it was July,” said the president.
“They would, they would,” wailed the girl with the eyeglasses, “well, I just knew that I had to be well in time to go to Mrs. Brownsmith’s card party. The way that Marie tries to attract Frank’s attention is too dreadful, and I knew she would be there.”