"I had to do so."
"The coat is delicious," she said, peeping around to get a glimpse of the long black tails. "Thank Heaven for this bit of comedy in the heavy tragedy of my life during the last few weeks."
"This also is tragedy," he said, seriously.
"But why have I not known you were here?"
"No one knew that I had ever met you, and how was I to know that Mrs. Justin Mercer was Miss Derrice Lancaster?"
"And you live here?"
"Yes, next door. These people here are some of my parishioners."
"And do you—what is it you call it—preach in that coat?"
"No, I preach in my shirt-sleeves," he said, irritably.
Derrice wrinkled her forehead. Now that the first blush of greeting was over she had leisure to scrutinise him. Where was the gay carelessness, almost recklessness, of demeanour that had characterise her friend in former days? Gone like a dream of youth,—this moody, reserved man with the flushed face had slipped in among the ranks of the middle-aged.