"I will do that the first opportunity, mother."
"That's your husband's doing. I allays knew he'd wile a bird off a bush!"
"I am very thankful to him," said Diana calmly.
That calm of hers was unapproachable. It would neither take offence nor give it; although, it is true, it did irritate some of her neighbours and companions by the very distance it put between them and her. Diana was different from them, and growing more different; yet it was hard to find fault. She was so handsome, too; that helped the effect of superiority. And her dress; what was there about her dress? It was a pale lilac muslin, no way remarkable in itself; but it fell around lines so soft and noble, and about so queenly a carriage, it waved with so quiet and graceful motions, there was a temptation to think Diana must have called in dressmaking aid that was not lawful—for the minister's wife. As the like often happens, Diana was set apart by a life-long sorrow from all their world of experience,—and they thought she was proud.
"What did you pay for that muslin, Diana?" Mrs. Flandin asked.
"Fifteenpence."
"Du tell! well I should ha' thought it was more," remarked Miss Gunn.
"It's made so elegant."
"I made it myself," said Diana, smiling.
"Du tell!" said Miss Gunn again, reviewing the gown. For, as I hinted, its draperies were graceful, their lovely lines being unbroken by furbelows and flummery; and the sleeves were open and half long, with a full ruffle which fell away from Diana's beautiful arms.
"How Phemie Knowlton used to dress!" Miss Gunn went on, moved by some hidden association of ideas.