Amarilly was slightly awed at first by the luxurious appointments of the
room, but she soon recovered her ease and devoured the novel sweets with
appreciative avidity. Then she proved herself a fascinating raconteur of
the annals of a world unknown to Colette. It was a matter of course to
Amarilly that the leading lady should be supporting an invalid sister;
that the languid Lord Algernon should be sending his savings to his old
mother who lived in the country; that the understudy should sew
industriously through rehearsals and behind the scenes between parts for
her two little fatherless girls; that Pete Noyes should "bank" to buy a
wheeled chair for his rheumatic father; that the villain was "layin' by"
for his parents to come from the Fatherland, and that the company should
all chip in to send the property woman's sick child to the seashore. But
to Colette the homely little stories were vignettes of another side of
life.

"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."