“I do it yet,” laughed Diana.  “I cut sets three days last week.  Of course,” she added teasingly, “I did my hands up in lemon juice and kid gloves every night after it.”

Aunt Atossa sniffed.

“I suppose you got that notion out of some of those silly magazines you read so many of.  I wonder your mother allows you.  But she always spoiled you.  We all thought when George married her she wouldn’t be a suitable wife for him.”

Aunt Atossa sighed heavily, as if all forebodings upon the occasion of George Barry’s marriage had been amply and darkly fulfilled.

“Going, are you?” she inquired, as the girls rose.  “Well, I suppose you can’t find much amusement talking to an old woman like me.  It’s such a pity the boys ain’t home.”

“We want to run in and see Ruby Gillis a little while,” explained Diana.

“Oh, anything does for an excuse, of course,” said Aunt Atossa, amiably.  “Just whip in and whip out before you have time to say how-do decently.  It’s college airs, I s’pose.  You’d be wiser to keep away from Ruby Gillis.  The doctors say consumption’s catching.  I always knew Ruby’d get something, gadding off to Boston last fall for a visit.  People who ain’t content to stay home always catch something.”

“People who don’t go visiting catch things, too.  Sometimes they even die,” said Diana solemnly.

“Then they don’t have themselves to blame for it,” retorted Aunt Atossa triumphantly.  “I hear you are to be married in June, Diana.”

“There is no truth in that report,” said Diana, blushing.

“Well, don’t put it off too long,” said Aunt Atossa significantly.  “You’ll fade soon—­you’re all complexion and hair.  And the Wrights are terrible fickle.  You ought to wear a hat, miss Shirley.  Your nose is freckling scandalous.  My, but you are redheaded!  Well, I s’pose we’re all as the Lord made us!  Give Marilla Cuthbert my respects.  She’s never been to see me since I come to Avonlea, but I s’pose I oughtn’t to complain.  The Cuthberts always did think themselves a cut higher than any one else round here.”

“Oh, isn’t she dreadful?” gasped Diana, as they escaped down the lane.

“She’s worse than Miss Eliza Andrews,” said Anne.  “But then think of living all your life with a name like Atossa!  Wouldn’t it sour almost any one?  She should have tried to imagine her name was Cordelia.  It might have helped her a great deal.  It certainly helped me in the days when I didn’t like anne.”

“Josie Pye will be just like her when she grows up,” said Diana.  “Josie’s mother and Aunt Atossa are cousins, you know.  Oh, dear, I’m glad that’s over.  She’s so malicious—­she seems to put a bad flavor in everything.  Father tells such a funny story about her.  One time they had a minister in Spencervale who was a very good, spiritual man but very deaf.  He couldn’t hear any ordinary conversation at all.  Well, they used to have a prayer meeting