Amarilly of Clothes-line Alley

"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."