“Indeed Sophy is a great deal more sensible than to think she could be like Diana,” said Mrs. Norton, with dignity; “there _is_ a great difference of style; and different people like different things,” she added, oracularly, “some one, some another.” Mrs. Norton felt herself able to show fight with the backing up of Diana behind her, and even, with that moral support, felt strong enough slightly to under-value Diana: a whimsical way, yet a very genuine one, of proving unbounded faith in her. For the moment indeed she had an easy victory, for Mrs. Hunstanton was struck dumb by the audacious idea that Sophy’s “style” should be identified in opposition to Diana’s, and was silent against her will, finding no words at her command to say. And the others gathered up their presents, while the little scratch of Diana’s pen was the only sound clearly audible. Sophy turned over her gloves half regretfully, half pleased. They were beautiful gloves--some of them twelve-buttons! which was wonderful--much better than she ever would have herself bought; but then the Tuscan gloves did very well, and if it had only occurred to Diana to bring her something more useful! “But how good of Diana to think of you at all!” Mrs. Norton was whispering in her ear. “I don’t hear you talking,” said Diana, “if it’s out of consideration for me, never mind. You don’t disturb me, and my letters are almost done.” “You must go over all the sights,” said Mrs. Hunstanton; “my husband will give us no peace till you have seen everything. How pleased he will be to have a new person to take about! He will not spare you a single picture or a single chapel. He likes to do things thoroughly.” “But Diana must not do too much,” said Mrs. Norton, “after such a long journey. She must keep quite quiet for a day or two, and lie on the sofa. Indeed I should have the blinds down, if she would be guided by me. She must not try her nerves too much.” “Have I any nerves?” said Diana, laughing; “to lie on the sofa would make an end of me. But I don’t think I am good for sight-seeing. It is quite enough at present to say when one wakes, This is Italy. Fancy being in Italy! What could one desire more?” “But, dear Diana, that is nothing!” cried Sophy, great in her superior knowledge. “Wait till you have seen Pisa properly--oh, only wait a little! You don’t know--you can’t imagine how nice it is?”