THE HONORARY TRIER.
Lord Silverdale was the first visitor to the Old Maids' Club. He found
the fair President throned alone among the epigrammatic antimacassars.
Lillie received him with dignity and informed him that he stood on holy
ground. The young man was shocked to hear of the change in her
condition. He, himself, had lately spent his time in plucking up courage
to ask her to change it--and now he had been forestalled.
"But you must come in and see us often," said Lillie. "It occurs to me
that the by-laws admit you."
"How many will you be?" murmured Silverdale, heartbroken.
"I don't know yet. I am waiting for the thing to get about. I have been
in communication with the first candidate, and expect her any moment.
She is a celebrated actress."
"And who elects her?"
"I, of course!" said Lillie, with an imperial flash in her passionate
brown eyes. She was a brunette, and her face sometimes looked like a
handsome thunder-cloud. "I am the President and the Committee and the
Oldest Old Maid. Isn't one of the rules that candidates shall not
believe in Women's Rights? None of the members will have any voice
whatever."
"Well, if your actress is a comic opera star, she _won't_ have any voice
whatever."
"Lord Silverdale," said Lillie sharply, "I hate puns. They spoiled the
Bachelors' Club."
His lordship, who was the greatest punster of the peers, and the peer of
the greatest punsters, muttered savagely that he would like to spoil the
Old Maids' Club. Lillie punned herself sometimes, but he dared not tell
her of it.
"And what will be the subscription?" he said aloud.
"There will be none. I supply the premises."
"Ah, that will never do! Half the pleasure of belonging to a club is the
feeling that you have not paid your subscription. And how about grub?"
"Grub! We are not men. We do not fulfil missions by eating."
"Unjust creature! Men sometimes fulfil missions by being eaten."
"Well, papa will supply buns, lemonade and ices. Turple the magnificent,
will always be within call to hand round the things."
"May I send you in a hundred-weight of chocolate creams?"
"Certainly. Why should weddings have a monopoly of presents? This is not
the only way in which you can be of service to me, if you will."
"Only discover it for me, my dear Miss Dulcimer. Where there's a way
there's a will."
"Well, I should like you to act as Trier."
"Eh! I beg your pardon?"
"Don't apologize; to try the candidates who wish to be Old Maids."
"Try them! No, no! I'm afraid I should be prejudiced against bringing
them in innocent."
"Don't be silly. You know what I mean. I could not tell so well as you
whether they possessed the true apostolic spirit. You are a man--your
instinct would be truer than mine. Whenever a new candidate applies, I
want you to come up and see her."
"Really, Miss Dulcimer, I--I can't tell by looking at her!"
"No, but you can by her looking at you."
"You exaggerate my insight."
"Not at all. It is most important that something of the kind should be
done. By the rules, all the Old Maids must be young and beautiful. And
it requires a high degree of will and intelligence----"
"To be both!"
"For such to give themselves body and soul to the cause. Every Old Maid
is double-faced till she has been proved single-hearted."
"And must I talk to them?"
"In plain English----"
"It's the only language I speak plainly."
"Wait till I finish, boy! In plain English, you must flirt with them."
"Flirt?" said Silverdale, aghast. "What! With young and beautiful
girls?"
"I know it is hard, Lord Silverdale, but you will do it for my sake!"
They were sitting on an ottoman, and the lovely face which looked
pleadingly up into his was very near. The young man got up and walked up
and down.
"Hang it!" he murmured disconsolately. "Can't you try them on Turple the
magnificent. Or why not get a music-master or a professor of painting?"
"Music-masters touch the wrong chord, and professors of painting are
mostly old masters. You are young and polished and can flirt with tact
and taste."
"Thank you," said the poor young peer, making a wry face. "And therefore
I'm to be a flirtation machine."
"An electric battery if you like. I don't desire to mince my words.
There's no gain in not calling a spade a spade."
"And less in people calling a battery a rake."
"Is that a joke? I thought you clubmen enjoyed being called rakes."
"That is all most of us do enjoy. Take it from me that the last thing a
rake does is to sow wild oats."
"I know enough of agriculture not to be indebted to you for the
information. But I certainly thought you were a rake," said the little
girl, looking up at him with limpid brown eyes.
"You flatter me," he said with a mock bow; "you are young enough to know
better."
"But you have seen Society (and theatres) in a dozen capitals!"
"I have been behind the scenes of both," he answered simply. "That is
the thing to keep a man steady."
"I thought it turned a man's head," she said musingly.
"It does. Only one begins manhood with his head screwed the wrong way
on. Homoeopathy is the sole curative principle in morals. Excuse this
sudden discharge of copy-book mottoes. I sometimes go off that way, but
you mustn't take me for a Maxim gun. I am not such a bore, I hope."
Lillie flew off at a feminine tangent.
"All of which only proves the wisdom of my choice in selecting you."
"What! To pepper them with pellets of platitude?" he said, dropping
despairingly into an arm-chair.
"No. With eyeshot. Take care!"
"What's the matter?"
"You're sitting on an epigram."
[Illustration: "_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."