“Then you think I might as well give up?” said the Mayor, bitterly.
“Not at all,” said his sympathizer, kindly. “There may fall to you some lucky chance to reinstate yourself.”
“Now what could it be?” asked Mr. Jimson, eagerly. “What should I be looking out for?”
“Look out for everything,” said Berty, oracularly. “She will forget about the other night.”
“I thought you told me the other day that women never forget.”
“Neither they do,” said Berty, promptly, “never, never.”
“According to all I can make out,” said the Mayor, with a chagrined air, “you women have all the airs and graces of a combine, and none of its understandabilities. Your way of doing business don’t suit me. When I spot a bargain I jump on it. I close the affair before another fellow has a chance. That’s how I’ve made what little money I have.”
“You mustn’t make love the way you do business,” said Berty, shaking her head. “Oh, no, no.”
“Well, now, isn’t it business to want a good wife?”
“Yes,” said Berty, promptly, “and I admire your up-to-date spirit. There’s been a lot of nonsense talked about roses, and cottages, and heavenly eyes, and delicious noses and chins. I believe in being practical. You want this kind of a wife—look for her. Don’t fall in love with some silly thing, and then get tired of her in a week.”