"We were both so overwhelmed by this catastrophe," pursued the story-teller, "that we vowed for mutual self-protection against our besetting temptation to fribble at the other's expense, never to let each other out of sight. In the farces all the mistakes happen through the twins being on only one at a time. Thus have we balanced each other's tendencies to indiscretion before it was too late, and saved ourselves from ourselves. This necessity of being always together, imposed on us by our unhappy resemblance, naturally excludes either from marriage." Lillie was not favorably impressed with these skittish sisters. "I sympathize intensely with the sufferings of either," she said slily, "in being constrained to the society of the other. But your motives of celibacy are not sufficiently pure, nor have you fulfilled our prime condition, for even granting that your reply to the eligible young Churchman was tantamount to a rejection, it still only amounts to a half rejection each, which is fifty per cent. below our standard." She rang the bell. Turple the magnificent ushered the twins out and the next candidate in. She was an ethereal blonde in a simple white frock, and her story was as simple. "Read this Rondeau," she said. "It will tell you all." Lillie took the lines. They were headed THE LOVELY MAY--AN OLD MAID'S PLAINT. The lovely May at last is here, Long summer days are drawing near, And nights with cloudless moonshine rich; In woodlands green, on waters clear, Soft-couched in fern, or on the mere, Gliding like some white water-witch, Or lunching in a leafy niche, I see my sweet-faced sister dear, The lovely May. _She_ is engaged--and her career Is one of skittles blent with beer, While I, plain sewing left to stitch, Can ne'er expect those pleasures which, At this bright season of the year, The lovely may. Lillie looked up interrogatively. "But surely _you_ have nothing to complain of in the way of loveliness?" she said. "No, of course not. _I am_ the lovely May. It was my sister who wrote that. She died in June and I found it among her manuscripts. Remorse set in at the thought of Maria stitching while I was otherwise engaged. I disengaged myself at once. What's fair for one is fair for all. Women should combine. While there's one woman who can't get a husband, no man should be allowed to get a wife." "Hear, hear!" cried Lillie enthusiastically. "Only I am afraid there will always be blacklegs among us who will betray their sex for the sake of a husband." "Alas, yes," agreed the lovely May. "I fear such was the nature of my sister Maria. She coveted even my first husband." "What!" gasped the President. "Are you a widow?" "Certainly! I left off black when I was engaged again, and when I was disengaged I dared not resume it for fear of seeming to mourn my _fiancé_."