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Updated: June 10, 2025
Her eyes upon the girl's averted face, Persis measured off the coarse stuff, using her arm as a yard-stick. "Hm! Even with skirts as skimpy as they are now, this won't be enough by a yard and a half. Better call it two yards. It's high time your skirts were coming down where they belong. You can't stay a little girl forever." Some magic had erased the fretful pucker between Diantha's brows.
There stood his imposing grandmother, so overwhelmed with amazement that her trenchant sentences failed her completely; his stepmother, wearing an expression that almost suggested delight in his discomfiture; and Diantha, as grim as Rhadamanthus. Poor little Ilda burst into wild sobs and choking explanations, clinging to Diantha's hand. "If I'd only listened to you!" she said.
So Halfmoon Street remains quietly estimable, a desirable address, and knows it, and doggedly means to hold fast to that repute. But then of course! Diantha's innuendoes had been based on flimsiest hearsay. The chances were that Michael Lanyard was an utterly uninteresting person of blameless life.
Colonel Smith was unkind enough to observe that he hoped it was taking Phineas Hopkins long enough to learn to run the thing; but his remark did not reach Diantha's ears. She knew only that Phineas, together with the man and the automobile, started off early every morning for some unfrequented road, and did not return until night.
Annabel's looks are skin deep. Diantha's have top-roots running to her brain and her heart, too. Only she ought to be happier. 'Most any girl face is pretty to look at if it's happy enough, same as 'most any flower is pretty if it grows in the sun." A harassing reflection troubled Diantha's bliss. "Miss Persis, I haven't got a petticoat that comes below my knees."
And now s'pose both of you come home with me for supper. I'll telephone Diantha's folks where she is, so they won't worry." "I think I think that'll be awfully nice, don't you, Thad?" said Diantha. And the loser in the unequal contest surrendered without a blow as he answered, "Just as you say." Persis had not overestimated her persuasive powers.
But during the summer her whole energies went to perfecting the menus and the service of her food delivery. Mrs. Porne was the very first to order. She had been waiting impatiently for a chance to try the plan, and, with her husband, had the firmest faith in Diantha's capacity to carry it through. "We don't save much in money," she explained to the eager Mrs.
"I'm quite set up by his good opinion seeing he knows so much about it." That Persis' dry retort veiled sarcasm was far from Diantha's thought. She continued guilelessly. "He's got such good taste, Thad has. Don't you think men have better taste than women, Miss Persis? All women care about is following the styles, and men think whether the way you do your hair is becoming or not.
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