The lady from Boston wired congratulations on the success of the Club from Yokohama whither she had gone to pick up lacquer-work. Poor Miss Summerson, the lovely May, and the victim of the Valentine were a triad that was much admired. Miss Fanny Radowski, whose Oriental loveliness excited much attention, came, with Martin. Winifred Woodpecker was accompanied by her mother, the resemblance between the two being generally remarked, and Miss Margaret Linbridge seemed to afford Richard Westbourne copious opportunities for jealousy. Even Wilkins was there with his Diana, in an unprofessional capacity, Lillie having relented towards her interviewer on learning that she had been really engaged to Silverplume once and that she had not entirely drawn on the stores of journalistic fancy. Silverplume himself was there, unconscious to what he owed the invitation, and paying marked attention to the unattached beauties. Miss Nimrod promenaded the rooms on the arm of the millionaire. She had improved vastly since she had become effeminate, and Lillie felt she could put up with her, now she would not have to live with her. Even Silverdale's aunt, Lady Goody-Goody Twoshoes could find no fault with Nelly now. It was a brilliant scene. The apartments of the Old Maids' Club had been artistically decked with the most gorgeous flowers that the millionaire could afford, and the epigrams had been carefully removed so as to leave the rooms free for dancing. As Lillie's father gazed around, he felt that not many millionaires could secure such a galaxy of beauty as circled in the giddy dance in his gilded saloon. It was, indeed, an unexampled gathering of pretty girls--this inaugural _soirée_ of the Old Maids' Club, and the millionaire's shirt-front heaved with pride and pleasure and the Letter-Day Cupid that still hung on the wall seemed to take heart of grace again. "You got my verses this morning, Rainbow mine?" said Silverdale, when the carriage drove off, and the honeymoon began. It was almost the first moment they had had together the whole day. "Yes," said Lillie softly. "And I wanted to tell you there are two lines which are truer than you meant." "I am indeed, a poet, then! Which are they?" Lillie blushed sweetly. Presently she murmured, "'You followed logic to excess, Repressing thoughts of tenderness.' "How did you know that?" she asked, her brown eyes looking ingenuously into his. "Love's divination, I suppose." "My father didn't tell you?" "Tell me what?" "About my discovery in the algebra of love?" "Algebra of love?" "No, of course he didn't. I don't suppose he ever really understood it," said Lillie with a pathetic smile. "I think I ought to tell you now what it was that made me so--so--you understand." She put her little warm hand lightly into his and nestled against his shoulder, as if to make amends. After a delicious silence, for Lord Silverdale betrayed no signs of impatience, Lillie confessed all.