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Updated: August 14, 2024
All these comments were sweet music in Amarilly's ear. Only one person had regrets. Mrs. Hudgers was visibly disappointed. "I thought they'd hev candles a-burnin'," she confided to Mrs. Huce. "Don't you know no better than that?" scoffed Mrs. Huce with a superior air. "Them things is only used by Irish folks."
Divided between dread of appearing in public and pride at the importance with which she was regarded by her little flock, Mrs. Jenkins was quite upset by the occasion. She hadn't attended a function for so long that her costuming therefor was of more concern than had been Amarilly's church raiment. Mrs. Hudgers loaned her mourning bonnet and veil, which was adjusted at half mast.
"And the next one to her," reminded Colette, "is Derry Phillips, Amarilly's new benefactor. She told me to-day that she had a note from him, asking her to begin work at the studio in a few days." "I have a double duty in my call there," said John didactically. "If he is like some of the young artists I know, his studio will hardly be a proper place for Amarilly."
"Colette," he said, his voice tense, "if you knew what your little note meant! Did " "Wait until I explain, John. I must tell you about the surplice." She repeated Amarilly's account of the peregrinations of the robe. "Well?" he asked bewildered, "I don't see what that has to do with " "Everything. There was something of mine " she turned a deep crimson "in the pocket of that surplice." "Yours!
Amarilly's thin little face flushed and a tear came into each thoughtful eye. "I hedn't orter to hev tole you ter git all them things. I was atryin' ter be smart and show off, but, honest, I didn't know they was agoin' ter cost so much. I ain't agoin' ter take no money fer the cleanin', and that'll help some." Derry laughed rapturously. "My dear child!" he exclaimed, when he could speak.
With this remark John, despairing of his ability to fathom the mystery of the article or to follow the caprices of Colette, dropped the matter completely. At half past eight on the morning indicated, Amarilly's ring at the door of the studio was answered by Derry, whose face was covered with lather. "Hello, Amarilly!" he exclaimed heartily, extending his hand in genial comradeship.
"Did you like the service, Amarilly?" she whispered. "Was it like the theatre?" "It was diffrent," said Amarilly impressively. "I think it's what heaven is!" "And did you like the sermon St. John preached?" Amarilly's lips quivered. "I liked it so much, I liked him so much, I'd ruther not talk about it."
They give her dyspepsy, anyhow." The muscles of John Meredith's face grew rigid in his endeavor to maintain a serious expression. He had taken out a notebook at the beginning of the interview to jot down the addresses, but he copied Amarilly's comments as well, for the future entertainment of Colette. "'July 25 and 26. Mr. Derry Phillips, The Navarre. 2 dollers. Pade. He paints picters.
"He must be a lightning change artist like the one down to the vawdyveel that Pete was tellin' of!" Then two wonderful, heart-throbbing things happened. John took Amarilly's saffron-clad hand in his and told her in earnest, convincing tones how glad he was that she had come, and that he should look for her every Sunday. "He held up the hull p'rade fer me!" she thought exultingly.
At Amarilly's suggestion, the woodwork was also painted white. "Hard to keep clean," warned Amarilly, divided in her trend of practicality and her loyalty to St. John's favorite color. White won. The moment the paint was dry and the Annex announced "done," the Boarder took Lily Rose to view their prospective domicile.
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