That evening Jack entered the parlor and found Clover leaning back in an armchair. He dropped into a seat beside her.
"You look fitter to adorn some marble shrine in the White City than to decorate a humdrum, mortal home," he remarked, regarding her thin gown approvingly.
"I believe I never saw you before in a dress-suit," she answered lazily. "You look very neat, my dear. That is what mother used to say to us to suppress our vanity, when we were in festive array. It is rather amusing to see Fair pilgrims in evening dress, isn't it?"
"Where is Mildred?" asked Van Tassel, looking about.
"She will be here directly. If my sister were entirely costumed at any appointed time, I should be anxious about her."
"I haven't had a chance to confess before," went on Jack, low and hastily. "I spoke to her too soon, after all. I need a keeper."
"Oh, Jack! I'm sorry."
Clover looked dismayed, and her tone was heart-felt.
"The milk is spilled, though; there is no going back. Didn't she tell you?"
"No, indeed. When did it happen?"