"Oh, better!" exclaimed Amarilly.
And with this naive admission died the last spark of Amarilly's
stage-lust.
"Then consider yourself engaged. You can call for the surplice to-morrow
afternoon at this hour."
"Thank you, Mr. Derry."
She hesitated, and then awkwardly extended her hand, which he shook most
cordially.
"Thank you for a day's entertainment, Amarilly. I haven't been bored
once. You have very nice hands," looking down at the one he still held.
She reddened and jerked her hand quickly away.
"Now you _are_ kiddin'! They're redder than my hair, and rough and big."
"I repeat, Amarilly, you have nice hands. It isn't size and color that
counts; it's shape, and from an artist's standpoint you have shapely
hands. Now will you be good, and shake hands with me in a perfectly
ladylike way? Thank you, Amarilly."
"Thank _you_, Mr. Derry. It's the beautifulest day I ever hed. Better'n
the matinee or the Guild or--" she drew a quick breath and said in a
scared whisper--"the church!"
"I am flattered, Amarilly. We shall have many ruby-lettered days like
it."