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."

"Not if I give her something real in the place of what you rightly term
her illusions."

"You can't. Sunday-school would not satisfy a broad-minded little
proletarian like Amarilly, so don't preach to _her_."

He winced perceptibly.

"Do I preach to _you_, Colette? Is that how you regard me--as a prosy
preacher who--"

"No, John. Just as a disturber of dreams--that is all."

"A disturber of dreams?" he repeated wistfully. "It is you, Colette, who
are a disturber of dreams. If you would only let my dreams become
realities!"

"Then, to be paradoxical, your realities might change back to dreams, or
even nightmares. Returning to soapsuds and Amarilly Jenkins, will you go
there with me to-morrow and make arrangements with Mrs. Jenkins for the
laundry work?"