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Updated: June 10, 2025
A mother loves all her children, naturally; but a mother is also a person and may, without sin, have personal preferences. She took hold of Diantha's tangled mass of papers with the eagerness of a questing hound. "You've got all the bills, of course," she demanded, with her anxious rising inflection. "Every one," said the girl. "You taught me that much. What puzzles me is to make things balance.
Marital difficulties in bulk were beyond Diantha's comprehension, and she dropped the subject. Union House opened in the autumn. The vanished pepper trees were dim with dust in Orchardina streets as the long rainless summer drew to a close; but the social atmosphere fairly sparkled with new interest.
To his friends and cronies he dilated with pride on his daughter's wonderful achievements. "She's as good as a boy!" he would declare. "Women nowadays seem to do anything they want to!" And he rigidly paid his board bill with a flourish. Meanwhile the impressive gatherings at Mrs. Thaddler's, and the humbler tea and card parties of Diantha's friends, had a new topic as a shuttlecock.
It was impossible for her to recognize Diantha's companion or to know indeed, that the opalescent flash of pink stood for Diantha's nearness. Yet she was sure of both things and of much besides. And with her conviction that the case was serious, an adequate plan of action instantly presented itself.
Something snapped, and he seemed to be floating up, up, up, out of the black oblivion of nothingness. He tried to speak, but he knew that he made no sound. "Phineas! Phineas!" The voice was nearer now, so near that it seemed just above him. It sounded like With a mighty effort he opened his eyes; then full consciousness came. He was on the ground, his head in Diantha's lap.
"I never thought she cared anything much for Diantha," she told Persis who had dropped in several times during the day to see how matters were progressing. "But I must say, I did her an injustice. She's been pretty nearly crazy all day. She looks like a ghost." "Well, she's Diantha's mother when all's said and done," Persis responded. Happiness makes for tolerance.
Mystic fragrances, still whispery nights, dewy mornings, gay with flowers, were flung into the scale. And when Diantha's wedding was but two days off, Persis suddenly capitulated. "I've always said that folks who'd let their lives go to smash for want of speaking out deserved all they got. And now it looks as if I was that sort of a fool myself. Algie!"
Then she dressed for dinner, revolving in her mind certain suspicions long suppressed, but now flaming out in clear conviction in the light of Diantha's words. "Sleeping in, indeed!" she murmured to herself. "And nobody doing anything!" She looked herself in the eye in the long mirror. Her gown was an impressive one, her hair coiled high, a gold band ringed it like a crown.
And yet it was true, and Diantha's little hand was in his, to have and to hold till death did them part. Diantha's composure throughout the ceremony had suggested that being married was an every-day matter to a person of her wide experience. Her poise and self-possession were the occasion of wondering comment among the many who were hardly able to realize even now that she had really grown up.
But Persis Dale made Diantha's dress, and somebody who saw it, told me it was the handsomest thing she ever clapped her eyes on. Persis Dale sets everything by that girl." If the occupants of the pews enjoyed the long wait, not so Thad West. Pale and perspiring, he looked more like a patient about to be conveyed to an operating table, than a bridegroom on the threshold of his happiness.
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