gloves had been turned in at the box-office by an usher, and had
remained unclaimed. They proved a perfect fit, and were the supreme
triumph of the bizarre costume.

Not even Solomon in all his glory was arrayed in splendor greater than
that displayed by Amarilly when she set forth on Sunday morning for St.
Mark's. Promptness was ever Amarilly's chief characteristic, and she
arrived long in advance of the ushers. This gave her an opportunity to
sample several pews before finally selecting one whose usual occupants,
fortunately, were out of the city.

The vastness and stillness of the edifice, disturbed now and then by
silken rustle and soft-shod foot were bewildering to Amarilly. She
experienced a slight depression until the vibrating tones of the organ
fell softly upon the air. The harmony grew more subdued, ceased, and was
succeeded by another moment of solemn silence. Then a procession of
white-robed choristers came down the aisle, their well-trained voices
ringing out in carolling cadence.

"Them's the chorus," thought Amarilly.

Entranced, she listened to the service, sitting upright and very still.
The spiritual significance of the music, the massing of foliage and
flowers in the chancel, the white altars with their many lighted
candles, were very impressive to the little wide-eyed worshipper.

"Their settin's is all right," she said to herself critically, "and it
ain't like the theayter. It's--"

A sudden revealing light penetrated the shadows of her little being.