An annual affliction,
It tours the wide world through,
And I who bred the fiction
Have come to think it true.
Life's burden it has doubled,
For peace of mind it slew,
My dreams by it are troubled,
My days are filled with rue.
Its horrors yearly thicken,
It sticks to me like glue,
And sad and conscience-stricken
I curse that cockatoo.
"That is what will happen with Clorinda Bell's membership of our club," continued the poet. "She will remain a member long after it has ceased to exist. Once a thing has appeared in print, you cannot destroy it. A published lie is immortal. Age cannot wither it, nor custom stale its infinite variety. It thrives by contradiction. Give me a cup of tea and I will go and interview the Moon-man at once."
The millionaire, hearing tea was on the tray, came in to join them, and Silverdale soon went off to his aunt, Lady Goody-Goody Twoshoes, and got the address of the man in the Moon.
"Lillie, what's this I see in the Moon about Clorinda Bell joining your Club?" asked the millionaire.
"An invention, father."
The millionaire looked disappointed.
"Will all your Old Maids be young?"