"Have you been to the rectory yet, Amarilly?" she asked presently, when
Amarilly's memories of stage life lagged.
"No; Flammy has went fer Mr. St. Mark's things."
"Mr. St. Mark's!"
Colette laughed delightedly.
"I thought you told me that the preacher's name was Mr. St. Marks. You
said mebby you could git his wash fer us."
"No, Amarilly. I did not mean that. St. Mark's is the name of the church
where he officiates. He could never under any conditions be a St. Mark."
"Wat's his name?"
"St. John, of course. And most people call him a rector, but really your
name suits him best. He does preach--sometimes--to me."
At the end of the week Colette again sent for John--to call "on laundry
business"--her little note read.
"I couldn't wait," she said when he came, "to learn how Mrs. Jenkins
pleased you. My waists were most beautifully laundered. She is certainly
a Madonna of the Tubs."
"You have indeed secured a treasure for me, Colette. The linen is
immaculate, and she shall have the laundering of it regularly."
"I am so glad!" exclaimed Colette fervently. "They need it so much, and
they are so anxious to please. Amarilly was so apprehensive--"
John's face had become radiant.
"It is sweet in you to be interested, Colette, and--"
"I wish you would see her," said Colette, ignoring his commendatory
words and voice. "She's an odd little character. I invited her to
luncheon the other day, and the courses and silver never disturbed her
apparently. She watched me closely, however, and followed my moves as
precisely as a second oarsman. By the way, she called you St. Mark. I
know some people consider you and St. Mark's as synonymous, but I
explained the difference. She tells me absorbingly interesting stories
of theatre life--the life behind the scenes. You see the 'scent of the
roses,' John!"
The shadow fell again, but he made no response.
The following Monday the young minister chanced to be in the culinary
precincts of the rectory when Amarilly called for the laundry, none of
the boys having been available for the service.
An instant gleam of recognition came into his kindly eyes.
"You must be Amarilly Jenkins. I have heard very good accounts of you--
that you are industrious and a great help to your mother."
Amarilly looked at him shrewdly.
"_She_ told you," she affirmed positively.
There was but one "she" in the world of these two, and John Meredith
naturally comprehended.