amber and jade, and from a thousand emerald gardens rose the subtle,
fragrant incense of flowers. How still and beautiful this day seems to
us who have hurried hither and thither for six long days, sometimes in
anger, sometimes in exultation, failure or success! It breathes a
peace and quiet that is tonic. Upon this day there is truce between us
and the enemy.

In Herculaneum they still went to church on a Sunday morning. Perhaps
it was merely habit, perhaps it was simply formality, perhaps it was
only to parade new clothes; anyhow, they went to church. At ten-thirty
the procession started; gentlemen in their tiles, ladies in their
furbelows, children stiffly starched. Some rode to church, but the
majority walked. There were many store-windows to preen before, as in
a mirror. Vanity has something to her credit, after all; it is due to
her that most of us make an effort to keep spruce and clean.

Comment passed like the fall of dominoes. Some woman,
ultra-fashionable, would start the chatter. She NEVER saw anything
like the gowns Mrs. Jones wore; Mrs. Jones touched upon the impossible
feathers of Mrs. Smith's hat, and Mrs. Smith in turn questioned the
exquisite complexion of Mrs. Green, who thought Mrs. White's children
the homeliest in the city. (Can't you hear the dominoes going down?)

The men nodded here and there, briefly. Saturday night in a provincial
town holds many recollections.

The high church was a stately pile of granite, with lofty spire and
fine memorial windows. Doves fluttered about the eaves. Upon this
particular Sunday morning there seemed to be something in the air that
was not a component part of any of the elements. It was simply a bit
of news which the church-goers had read in the papers that morning. To
many a bud and belle it was a thunder-clap, a bolt from a cloudless
heaven. They whispered about it, lifted their eyebrows, and shrugged
their shoulders. But their mamas gave no sign. If the fox of
disappointment ate into their vitals, they determined, Spartan-like,
that none should know it. An actress! Men might marry actresses in
England, but Herculaneum still clung to the belief that actresses were
not eligible.

Some of the men had seen Katherine Challoner act, and they sighed,
retrospectively and introspectively.

"I feel for Mrs. Bennington and her daughter. It must be a great blow
to their pride." Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene sat down in her pew-seat and
arranged her silk petticoats. Mrs.