"The perfect day slips softly to its end, The sunset paints the tender evening sky, The shadows shroud the hills with gray, and lend A softened touch of ancient mystery, And ere the silent change of heaven's light I feel the coming glory of the night. "O for the sweet and sacred earnest gaze Of eyes divine with strange and yearning tears To feel with me the beauty of our days, The glorious sadness of our mortal years The noble misery of the spirit's strife, The joy and splendour of the body's life." Lillie's hand pressed her lover's with involuntary tenderness, but she had turned her face away. Presently she murmured: "But think what you are asking me to do? How can I, the President of the Old Maid's Club, be the first recreant?" "But you are also the last to leave the ship," he replied, smiling. "Besides, you are not legally elected. You never came before the Honorary Trier. You were never a member at all, so have nothing to undo. If you had stood your trial fairly, I should have plucked you, my Lillie, plucked you and worn you nearest my heart. It is I who have a position to resign--the Honorary Triership--and I resign it instanter. A nice trying time I have had, to be sure!" "Now, now! I set my face against punning!" said Lillie, showing it now, for the smiles had come to hide the tears. "Pardon, Rainbow," he answered. "Why do you call me Rainbow?" "Because you look it," he said. "Because your face is made of sunshine and tears. Go and look in the glass. Also because--well, wait and I will fashion my other reason into rhyme and send it you on our wedding morn." "Poetry made while you wait," said Lillie, laughing. The laugh froze suddenly on her lips, and a look of horror overswept her face. "What is it, dearest?" cried her lover, in alarm. "Wee Winnie! How can we face Wee Winnie?" "There is no need to break the truth to her--we can simply get rid of her by telling her she has never been elected, and never will be." "Why," said Lillie, with a comic _moue_, "that would be harder to tell her than the truth. But we must first of all tell father. I am afraid he will be dreadfully disappointed at missing that inaugural _soirée_ after all. You know he has been staying in town expressly for it. We have some bad quarters of an hour before us." They sought the millionaire in his sanctum but found him not. They inquired of Turple the magnificent, and learned that he was in the garden. As they turned away, the lovers both simultaneously remarked something peculiar about the face of Turple the magnificent. Moved by a common impulse, they turned back and gazed at it. For some seconds they could not at all grasp the change that had come over it--but at last, and almost at the same instant, they realized what was the matter. _Turple the magnificent was smiling._