Richard had asked her why she didn't curl her hair as she used to do.
All the people saw Sylvia's white bonnet; it seemed to turn their eyes like a brilliant white spot, which reflected all the light in the meeting-house.

But there were a few women who eyed more sharply Sylvia's wedding-gown and mantilla, for she wore the very ones which poor Charlotte Barnard had made ready for her own bridal.

Sylvia was just about her niece's height; the gown had needed a little taking in to fit her thinner form, and that was all.
Charlotte's mother had brought them over to Sylvia's one night, all nicely folded in white linen towels.
"Charlotte wants you to have 'em; she says she won't ever need 'em, poor child!" she said, in response to Sylvia's remonstrances.

Mrs.
Barnard's eyes were red, as if she had been crying.

It had apparently been harder for her to give up the poor slighted wedding-clothes than for her daughter.