Colette King was not one whom the voice of the people of St. Mark's
would proclaim as the personification of their ideal of a pastor's wife,
yet John Meredith loved her with the love that passeth all
understanding. Perhaps the secret of her charm for him lay in the fact
that she treated him as she did other men--men who did not wear a
surplice. And yet his surplice and all that pertained thereto were
matters of great moment to the rector of St. Mark's. Little traces of
his individuality were evident in the fashioning of this clerical
garment. A pocket for his handkerchief was stitched on the left side.
The flowers, the baptismal font, the altar cloth, and the robes of the
vested choir he insisted should be immaculate in whiteness. White, the
color of the lily, he declared, was the emblem of purity. There were
members of his flock so worldly minded as to whisper insinuatingly that
white was extremely becoming to Colette King. Many washerwomen had
applied for the task of laundering the ecclesiastical linen; many had
been tried and found wanting. So after her interview with Amarilly,
Colette asked the rector of St. Mark's to call at her house "on
important business."
From the time he was ten years old until he became rector of St. Mark's,
John Meredith had been a member of the household of his guardian, Henry
King, and had ever cheerfully and gladly borne with the caprices of the
little Colette.
He answered the present summons promptly and palpitatingly. It had been
two weeks since he had remonstrated with Colette for the surprisingly
sudden announcement, made in seeming seriousness, that she was going to
study opera with a view to going on the stage. The fact that she had a
light, sweet soprano adapted only to the rendition of drawing-room
ballads did not lessen in his eyes the probability of her carrying out
this resolve.
She had met his reproving expostulations in a spirit of bantering
raillery and replied with a defiance of his opinion that had pierced his
heart with arrow-like swiftness. Since then she had studiously avoided
meeting him, and he was not sure whether he was now recalled to listen
to a reiteration of her intentions or to receive an anodyne for the
bitterness of her remarks at their last interview.
"I sent for you, John," she said demurely and without preamble, "to see
if you have found a satisfactory laundress yet for the surplices."
"Colette!" he exclaimed in rebuking tone, his face reddening at her
question which he supposed to be made in mere mockery.