People differed as to the reason why. Some said she had had an
unfortunate love affair, that her heart had been broken, and she had
taken upon herself a vow of seclusion from the world, but nobody
could point to the unworthy lover who had done her this harm. When
Evelina was a girl, not one of the young men of the village had dared
address her. She had been set apart by birth and training, and also
by a certain exclusiveness of manner, if not of nature. Her father,
old Squire Adams, had been the one man of wealth and college learning
in the village. He had owned the one fine old mansion-house, with its
white front propped on great Corinthian pillars, overlooking the
village like a broad brow of superiority.
He had owned the only coach and four. His wife during her short life
had gone dressed in rich brocades and satins that rustled loud in the
ears of the village women, and her nodding plumes had dazzled the
eyes under their modest hoods. Hardly a woman in the village but
could tell--for it had been handed down like a folk-lore song from
mother to daughter--just what Squire Adams's wife wore when she
walked out first as bride to meeting. She had been clad all in blue.
"Squire Adams's wife, when she walked out bride, she wore a blue
satin brocade gown, all wrought with blue flowers of a darker blue,
cut low neck and short sleeves.
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