The Old Maids' Club. Israel Zangwill

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      "Take care! You're sitting on an epigram."

      The young man started up as if stung, and removed the antimacassar, without, however, seeing the point.

       "I hope you don't mind my inquiring whether you have any morals," said Lillie.

      "I have as many as Æsop. The strictest investigation courted. References given and exchanged," said the peer lightly.

      "Do be serious. You know I have an insatiable curiosity to know everything about everything—to feel all sensations, think all thoughts. That is the note of my being." The brown eyes had an eager, wistful look.

      "Oh, yes—a note of interrogation."

      "O that I were a man! What do men think?"

       "What do you think? Men are human beings first and masculine afterwards. And I think everybody is like a suburban Assembly Hall—to-day a temperance lecture, to-morrow a dance, next day an oratorio, then a farcical comedy, and on Sunday a religious service. But about this appointment?"

      "Well, let us settle it one way or another," Lillie said. "Here is my proposal——"

      "I have an alternative proposal," he said desperately.

      "I cannot listen to any other. Will you, or will you not, become Honorary Trier of the Old Maids' Club?"

      "I'll try," he said at last.

      "Yes or no?"

      "Shall you be present at the trials?"

      "Certainly, but I shall cultivate myopia."

      "It's a short-sighted policy, Miss Dulcimer. Still, sustained by your presence, I feel I could flirt with the most beautiful and charming girl in the world. I could do it, even unsustained by the presence of the other girl."

      "Oh, no! You must not flirt with me. I am the only Old Maid with whom flirtation is absolutely taboo."

      "Then I consent," said Silverdale with apparent irrelevance. And seating himself on the piano stool, after carefully removing an epigram from the top of the instrument, he picked out "The Last Rose of Summer" with a facile forefinger.

      "Don't!" said Lillie. "Stick to your lute."

      Thus admonished, the nobleman took down Lillie's banjo, which was hanging on the wall, and struck a few passionate chords.

      "Do you know," he said, "I always look on the banjo as the American among musical instruments. It is the guitar with a twang. Wasn't it invented in the States? Anyhow it is the most appropriate instrument to which to sing you my Fin de Siècle Love Song."

       "For Heaven's sake, don't use that poor overworked phrase!"

      "Why not? It has only a few years to live. List to my sonnet."

      So saying, he strummed the strings and sang in an aristocratic baritone:

      AD CHLOEN.—A Valedictory.

      O Chloe, you are very, very dear,

       And far above your rivals in the town,

       Who all in vain essay to beat you down,

       Embittered by your haughtiness austere.

       Too high you are for lowly me, I fear.

       You would not stoop to pick up e'en a crown,

       Nor cede the slightest lowering of a gown,

       Though in men's eyes far fairer to appear.

      With this my message, kindly current go,

       At half-penny per word—it should be less—

       To Chloe, telegraphical address

       (Thus written to economize two d) Of Messrs. Robinson, De Vere & Co., Costumers, 90, Ludgate Hill, E. C.

      Lillie laughed. "My actress's name is something like Chloe. It is Clorinda—Clorinda Bell. She tells me she is very celebrated."

      "Oh, yes, I've heard of her," he said.

      "There is a sneer in your tones. Have you heard anything to her disadvantage?"

      "Only that she is virtuous and in Society."

      "The very woman for an Old Maid! She is beautiful, too."

      "Is she? I thought she was one of those actresses who reserve their beauty for the stage."

      "Oh, no. She always wears it. Here is her photograph. Isn't that a lovely face?"

       "It is a lovely photograph. Does she hope to achieve recognition by it, I wonder?"

      "Sceptic!"

      "I doubt all charms but yours."

      "Well, you shall see her."

      "All right, but mention her name clearly when you introduce me. Women are such changing creatures—to-day pretty, to-morrow plain, yesterday ugly. I have to be reintroduced to most of my female acquaintances three times a week. May I wait to see Clorinda?"

      "No, not to-day. She has to undergo the Preliminary Exam. Perhaps she may not even matriculate. Where you come in is at the graduation stage."

      "I see. To pass them as Bachelors—I mean Old Maids. I say, how will you get them to wear stuff gowns?"

      The bell rang loudly. "That may be she. Good-bye, Lord Silverdale. Remember you are Honorary Trier of the Old Maids' Club, and don't forget those chocolate creams."