Hesper's clear-cut but not too sharply defined consonants; her soft but full-bodied vowels; above all, her slow cadences that hovered on the verge of song, as her walk on the verge of a slow aerial dance; the carriage of her head, the movements of her lips, her arms, her hands; the self-possession that seemed the very embodiment of law--these formed together a whole of inexpressible delight, inextricably for Mary associated with music and verse: she would hasten to serve her as if she had been an angel come to do a little earthly shopping, and return with the next heavenward tide.

Hesper, in response all but unconscious, would be waited on by no other than Mary; and always between them passed some sweet, gentle nothings, which afforded Hesper more pleasure than she could have accounted for.
Her wedding-day was now for the third time fixed, when one morning she entered the shop to make some purchases.

Not happy in the prospect before her, she was yet inclined to make the best of it so far as clothes were concerned--the more so, perhaps, that she had seldom yet been dressed to her satisfaction: she was now brooding over a certain idea for her wedding-dress, which she had altogether failed in the attempt to convey to her London _couturiere_; and it had come into her head to try whether Mary might not grasp her idea, and help her to make it intelligible.

Mary listened and thought, questioned, and desired explanations--at length, begged she would allow her to ponder the thing a little: she could hardly at once venture to say anything.

Hesper laughed, and said she was taking a small matter too seriously--concluding from Mary's hesitation that she had but perplexed her, and that she could be of no use to her in the difficulty.
"A small matter?
Your wedding-dress!" exclaimed Mary, in a tone of expostulation.
Hesper did not laugh again, but gave a little sigh instead, which struck sadly on Mary's sympathetic heart.