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 Walter. She said her mother didn’t wish it. But everyone is talking about it.”

“Rilla doesn’t wear colours—nothing but white,” protested Betty Mead.

“White becomes her better than anything else,” said Irene significantly. “And we all know black doesn’t suit her complexion at all. But of course I’m not saying that is the reason she doesn’t wear it. Only, it’s funny. If my brother had died I’d have gone into deep mourning. I wouldn’t have had the heart for anything else. I confess I'm disappointed in Rilla Blythe.”

“I am not, then,” cried Betty Mead, loyally, “I think Rilla is just a wonderful girl, A few years ago I admit I did think she was rather too vain and giggle-some, but now she is nothing of the sort. I don't think there is a girl in the Glen who is so unselfish and plucky as Rilla, or who has ‘done her bit’ as thoroughly and patiently. Our Junior Red Cross would have gone on the rocks a dozen times if it hadn’t been for her tact and perseverance and enthusiasm—you know that perfectly well, Irene.”

“Why, I am not running Rilla down,” said Irene, opening her eyes widely. “It was only her lack of feeling I was criticizing. I suppose she can't help it. Of course, she’s a born manager—everyone knows that. She's very fond of managing, too—and people like that are very necessary I admit. So don’t look at me as if I’d said something perfectly dreadful, Betty, please. I'm quite willing to agree that Rilla Blythe is the embodiment of all the virtues, if that will please you. And no doubt it is a virtue to be quite unmoved by things that would crush most people.”