Then they had dinner, and after dinner Violetta gave them some music.

It was sacred music, for Mrs.Moore did not care for anything else.
When the song was over Mrs.Moore said to the curate, 'It has been my wish to give dear Violetta a little gift as a slight remembrance of this happy occasion, and I thought that something of my own would be more valuable than----' Here the mother's voice broke with very natural emotion, and she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.

'You must excuse me,' she murmured, 'she is such a dear--such a very dear girl, and she is our only child.' 'Indeed, I can well understand,' said he, with earnest sympathy.
'Such a dear--such a very dear girl,' murmured Mrs.Moore again.

Then she rose and embraced Violetta and wept, and the aunts all shed tears, and the vicar coughed.

Violetta's own blue eyes over-flowed with very pretty tears.
The curate felt very uncomfortable indeed, and said again that he quite understood, and that it was quite natural.