“I’ve got some of the pictures,” Guy remarked, tentatively.
“Here?” Fanny exclaimed.
“They’re up in my trunk somewhere.”
“Oh, you mean thing! You’ve had ’em all this time and never showed ’em to me! Well, that’s just like a man! And you might have known I’d have given anything to see ’em.”
“Well, I’ll bring ’em down to-morrow,” Guy promised.
“And what else did you do in your old club?”
“Oh, we used to have all kinds of sport,” Guy replied, feeling the difficulty of explaining to the feminine mind matters exclusively masculine.
“And didn’t you do any work at all in college?” Fanny cried, petulantly, with the exaction of serious accomplishment that all women make from men.
“Ye-e-s,” Guy replied. “I used to work pretty hard at examination times. But I wasn’t a grind, you know,” he added, quickly, as if defending himself from a reproach.
“What’s a grind?”