"Not at all!" protested Colette. "My trend at present may appear to be charitable, but Amarilly and I have a common interest--a fellow feeling--that makes me wondrous kind. We both have longings to appear in public on the stage." At this sudden challenge, this second lowering of the red flag, John's face grew stern. "Amarilly," continued the liquid voice,--"has had more experience in stage life than I have had. She has commenced at the lowest round of the dramatic ladder of fame. She scrubs at the Barlow Theatre, and she is quite familiar with stage lore. Her hero is the man who plays the role of Lord Algernon in _A Terrible Trial_." He made no reply, and Colette presently broke the silence. "Seriously, John," she said practically and in a tone far different from her former one, "the Jenkins family are poor and most deserving. I am going to give them some work, and if you would give them a trial on the church linen, it would help them so much. There was a regular army of little children on the doorstep, and it must be a struggle to feed them all. I should like to help them--to give them something--but they seem to be the kind of people that you can help only by giving them work to perform. I have learned that true independence is found only among the poor." John took a little notebook from his pocket. "What is their address, Colette?" She took the book from him and wrote down the street and number. "Colette, you endeavor to conceal a tender heart--" "And will you give them--Mrs. Jenkins--a trial?" "Yes; this week." "That will make Amarilly so happy," she said, brightening. "I am going there to-morrow to take them some work, and I will tell Mrs. Jenkins to send Flamingus--his is the only name of the brood that my memory retains--for the church laundry." "He may call at the rectory," replied John, "and get the house laundry as well." "That will be good news for them. I shall enjoy watching Amarilly's face when she hears it." "And now, Colette, will you do something for me?" "Maybe. What is it?" she asked guardedly. "Will you abandon the idea of going on the stage, or studying for that purpose?" "Perforce. Father won't consent." A look of relief drove the trouble from the dark eyes fixed on hers. "I'll be twenty-one in a year, however," she added carelessly. John was wise enough to perceive the wilfulness that prompted this reply, and he deftly changed the subject of conversation. "About this little girl, Amarilly. We must find her something in the way of employment. The atmosphere of a theatre isn't the proper one for a child of that age. Do you think so?" "Theoretically, no; but Amarilly is not impressionable to atmosphere altogether. She seems a hard-working, staunch little soul, and all that relieves the sordidness of her life and lightens the dreariness of her work is the 'theayter,' as she calls it. So don't destroy her illusions, John. You'll do her more harm than good."