'Twas at a Children's Fancy Ball, I got that first rejection, It did not kill my love at all But heightened its complexion. My love to tell, when she grew up, Necessitates italics. Her hair was like the buttercup (Corolla not the calyx). Her form was slim, her eye was bright, Her mouth a jewel-casket, Her hand it was so soft and white I often used to ask it. And so from year to year I wooed, My passion growing fiercer, Though she in modest maiden mood Addressed me as "My _dear_ sir." At twenty she was still as coy, Her heart was like Diana's. The future held for me no joy, Save smoking choice Havanas. At last my perseverance woke A sweet responsive passion, And of her love for me she spoke In woman's wordless fashion. I told her, when her speech was done, The task would be above her To make a happy man of one Who long had ceased to love her. Lillie put on an innocently analytical frown. "I think you behaved very badly," she exclaimed. "You might have waited a little longer." "Do you think so? Then I will go and leave you to your labors," said Lord Silverdale with his wonted irrelevancy. Lillie sat for a long time with pen in hand, thinking without writing. As a change from writing without thinking this was perhaps a relief. [Illustration: _Rejected Addresses._] "A penny for your thoughts," said the millionaire, stealing in upon her reflections. Lillie started. "I am not Ellaline Rand," she said smiling. "Wait till _The Cherub_ comes out, and you will get hers at that price." "Was Ellaline the girl who has just gone?" "Did you see her? I thought you were gardening." "So I was, but I happened to go into the dining-room for a moment and saw her from the window. I suppose she will be here often." "I suppose so," said Lillie dubiously. The millionaire rubbed his hands. "Miss Eustasia Pallas," announced Turple the magnificent. "A new candidate, probably," said the President. "Father, you must go and play in the garden." The millionaire left the room meekly. CHAPTER IX. OF WIVES AND THEIR MISTRESSES. "No, no," said Miss Eustasia Pallas. "You misapprehend me. It is not because it would be necessary to have a husband and a home of one's own, that I object to marriage, but because it would be impossible to do without servants. While a girl lives at home, she can cultivate her soul while her mother attends to the _ménage_. But after marriage, the higher life is impossible. You must have servants. You cannot do your own dirty work--not merely because it is dirty, but because it is the thief of time. You can hardly get literature, music, and religion adequately into your life even with the whole day at your disposal; but if you had to make your own bed, too, I am afraid you wouldn't find time to lie on it."