"There's Mr. St. John's carriage," she managed to murmur as she peered from the window.
Colette dropped her paper of pins, went hastily into the adjoining bedroom and slipped out again before John Meredith was ushered in where the surplice immaculately laundered, was waiting to be donned by its original owner.
After slipping it on, John's hand from force of habit sought the pocket and there encountered something. He drew it forth wonderingly. It was a small, silver-monogrammed envelope sealed and addressed to him in Colette's handwriting. He read the note once, twice, thrice. Then there was a knock at the door that led into the Annex sitting-room. He opened it to admit Amarilly.
"Are you ready?" she asked. "You're to go in with them. They—"
She paused and stared at him. The transformation in his face was wonderful.
"Yes, I am ready, Amarilly," he replied, and something in his voice sounded strange to her.
He followed her into the next room where the Boarder, awkward in his Sunday clothes, but regal in his pride in the little, white-veiled figure at his side, was awaiting him.
John walked out into the Jenkins's part of the house with them, while
Amarilly slipped home by way of the Annex bedroom.
The entrance was certainly effective to the neighbors.
"Ain't she a lily though!" "Look at that long veil onct!" "Jest like 'a picter!" "What a swell waist" "That big bo'quet!" "I niver seed sech flowers afore." "That surplus makes it look like picters!"