“Diana, I don’t understand thee,” responded Roisia. “What does it matter, I should say, having thine own way in little nothings so long as thou art not to have it in the one thing for which thou really carest? Thou dost not mean to say that a velvet gown would console thee for breaking thy heart?”
“But I do,” said Diana. “I must be a countess before I could wear velvet; and I would marry any man in the world who would make me a countess.”
Mistress Underdone, who had lifted up Clarice, and was holding her in her arms, petting her into calmness as she would a baby, now thought fit to interpose.
“My maids,” she said, “there are women who have lost their hearts, and there are women who were born without any. The former case has the more suffering, yet methinks the latter is really the more pitiable.”
“Well, I think those people pitiable enough who let their hearts break their sleep and interfere with their appetites,” replied Diana. “I have got over my disappointment already; and Clarice will be a simpleton if she do not.”
“I expect Clarice and I will be simpletons,” said Roisia, quietly.
“Please yourselves, and I will please myself,” answered Diana. “Now, mistress, Clarice seems to have given over crying for a few seconds; may we see the gear?”
“Oh, I want Father Bevis!” sobbed Clarice, with a fresh gush of tears.
“Ay, my dove, thou wilt be the better of shriving,” said Mistress Underdone, tenderly. “Sit thee down a moment, and I will see to Father Bevis. Wait awhile, Diana.”
It was not many minutes before she came back with Father Bevis, who took Clarice into his oratory; and as it was a long while before she rejoined them, the others—Roisia excepted—had almost time to forget the scene they had witnessed, in the interest of turning over Diana’s trousseau, and watching her try on hoods and mantles.