"Why, Lily Rose, of course. The Lily for whom he 'sot for his likeness in the surplus.' That awful surplice," she burst forth in irritation at the mere mention of the unfortunate word. "Some of these people must have it. John, you don't half try to find it." "I am following out the list in order," he assured her. "I shall go to see Mrs. Hudgers to-morrow." "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." "As it happens," returned Colette coldly, "Derry Phillips, for all his nonsense, is reported to be a true gentleman; but it would make no difference with Amarilly if he were not. Her inherent goodness would counteract the evil of any atmosphere. She can take care of his rooms until she is a little older. Then she can become a model." "Colette!" he exclaimed protestingly. "Why not?" she returned. "Why shouldn't Amarilly be a model, or go on the stage? Neither place would be below her station in life." John sought refuge in utter silence which admonished and exasperated Colette far more than any reproof would have done. "You might as well go, if you have nothing to say," she remarked stiffly, as he lingered in the portico, evidently expecting an invitation to enter. "I have _too_ much to say, Colette." Her sidelong glance noted his dejection, and her flagging spirits rose again. "Too much, indeed, when you are so critical of what I say!" "Colette, hear me!" "No, I won't listen--never when you preach!" "I don't mean to preach, Colette, but don't you think--" "Good night, John," she said, smiling. "Good night!" he echoed dolefully, but making no move to leave. "Colette, will you never tell me?" "Yes," she replied unexpectedly, with a dancing light in her beautiful eyes. "When?" "When you restore to me what was in the pocket." CHAPTER XVII Jason never sought the Golden Fleece with more unwearying perseverance than John displayed in the pursuit of the lost article which Colette refused to describe. His calls of inquiry didn't mean merely putting the question politely and taking his departure after receiving an answer. It meant, in the case of Mrs. Hudgers, a martyr's test of patience in listening to the devious and manifold routes taken by her rheumatic pains; a rehearsal of the late lamented Hallie's idiosyncracies; the details of his last illness; his death; and his wearing of the surplice at the obsequies. Throughout her harangue he preached patience unto himself and remembered that she was an old woman, desolate in her "lone lornness," so he counselled not, neither did he pray, but comforted her with the gentleness of voice and speech that won him a fond place in her memory for all time.