She turned her gaze again to John, who was sitting back of the choir, while his "understudy" conducted the service. His face was shaded by his hand, but Amarilly's gimlet glance noted that he frequently sent a fleeting, troubled look toward the King pew. "Thar's something up atwixt 'em," deduced Amarilly, "and they air both too proud to say nuthin' about it to the other." John's sermon was on the strength that renunciation brings, and the duty of learning resignation. There was a pervasive note of sadness in his deliverance of the theme, and Amarilly felt her joyousness in the return of her friends slipping from her. She went out of church somewhat depressed, but was cheered by the handclasp of the rector and his earnest assurance that he would see her very soon. While he was saying this, Colette slipped past without vouchsafing so much as a glance in their direction. Hurt through and through, the little girl walked sadly to the pavement with head and eyes downcast. "Amarilly," dulcetly spoke a well-loved voice. Her eyes turned quickly. Colette stood at the curb, her hand on the door of the electric. "I waited to take you home, dear. Why, what's the matter, Amarilly? Tears?" "I thought you wan't goin' to speak to me," said Amarilly, as she stepped into the brougham and took the seat beside Colette. "I didn't want to interrupt you and Mr. Meredith, but it's a wonder I knew you. You look so different. You have grown so tall, and what a beautiful dress! Who showed you how to fix your hair so artistically? I never realized you had such beautiful hair, child!" "I didn't nuther, till he told me." "Who, Amarilly? Lord Algernon?" "No!" scoffed Amarilly, suddenly realizing that her former hero had toppled from his pedestal in her thoughts. "'Tain't him. It's a new friend I have made. An artist." "Oh, Amarilly, you have such distinguished acquaintances! All in the profession, too. Tell me who the artist is." "Mr. Derry Phillips. I cleaned his rooms, and he took me to lunch. We ate things like we had to your house." "Derry Phillips, the talented young artist! Why, Amarilly, girls are tumbling over each other trying to get attention from him, and he took you to luncheon! Where?" "To Carter's, and I'm to serve his breakfast and take care of his rooms, and he showed me how to fix my hair and to say 'can' and 'ate.' He's fired the woman what red his rooms." "'Merely Mary Ann,'" murmured Colette. "No," said Amarilly positively. "Her name is Miss O'Leary, and she didn't clean the mopboards." Colette's gay laughter pealed forth. "Amarilly, this is the first time, I've laughed this summer, but I must explain something to you. The housekeeper told me that all the children had scarlet fever and were quarantined a long time after we left. I wish I had known it and thought more about you, but--I've had troubles of my own. How did you manage so long with nothing coming in?"