"Now you are being humble," said Nanty whimsically, "and I don't like humility in a woman. A woman should always remember that she is quite good enough for any man living." And with that Jane had to be satisfied.
And what a discussion followed as to the gown Jane should wear on the great day. We might have been schoolgirls. And the trouble was that no two of us agreed on any single point—colour, material, or fashion of making. When mother had soared away to silver gauze posed on chiffon, Jane said—
"Kindly remember my age, and that I am going to a wedding and not to a ball."
When Nanty even, roused to enthusiasm, had completed a dream of a princess gown of softest pastel-blue, chiffon velvet, Jane said—
"Kindly remember that I am small and dumpy."
And when I extolled the virtue of palest mauve taffeta, Jane simply laughed outright and asked me to look at her colouring.
"I'm looking," I said. "You've brown hair and bright red cheeks."
But she ignored all our suggestions.
"I shall be married in silver-grey poplin," she pronounced.
"Exactly like a servant." Nanty closed her eyes. "They always wear silver-grey. I had three parlour-maids in succession who had selected it for their wedding-gowns."