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!"

All these comments were sweet music in Amarilly's ear. Only one person
had regrets. Mrs. Hudgers was visibly disappointed.