Marilla is all alone and she gets lonely at twilight.”
“She will be lonelier still, I fear, when you go away again to college,” said Mrs. Allan.
Anne did not reply; she said good night and went slowly back to green Gables.
Marilla was sitting on the front door-steps and Anne sat down beside her.
The door was open behind them, held back by a big pink conch shell with hints of sea sunsets in its smooth inner convolutions.
Anne gathered some sprays of pale-yellow honeysuckle and put them in her hair.
She liked the delicious hint of fragrance, as some aerial benediction, above her every time she moved.
“Doctor Spencer was here while you were away,” Marilla said.
“He says that the specialist will be in town tomorrow and he insists that I must go in and have my eyes examined.
I suppose I’d better go and have it over.
I’ll be more than thankful if the man can give me the right kind of glasses to suit my eyes.
You won’t mind staying here alone while I’m away, will you?
Martin will have to drive me in and there’s ironing and baking to do.”
“I shall be all right. Diana will come over for company for me.
I shall attend to the ironing and baking beautifully—you needn’t fear that I’ll starch the handkerchiefs or flavor the cake with liniment.”
Marilla laughed.
“What a girl you were for making mistakes in them days, Anne.
You were always getting into scrapes.
I did use to think you were possessed.
Do you mind the time you dyed your hair?”
“Yes, indeed.
I shall never forget it,” smiled Anne, touching the heavy braid of hair that was wound about her shapely head.
“I laugh a little now sometimes when I think what a worry my hair used to be to me—but I don’t laugh much, because it was a very real trouble then.
I did suffer terribly over my hair and my freckles.
My freckles are really gone; and people are nice enough to tell me my hair is auburn now—all but Josie Pye.
She informed me yesterday that she really thought it was redder than ever, or at least my black dress made it look redder, and she asked me if people who had red hair ever got used to having it.
Marilla, I’ve almost decided to give up trying to like Josie Pye.
I’ve made what I would once have called a heroic effort to like her, but Josie Pye won’t be liked.”
“Josie is a Pye,” said Marilla sharply, “so she can’t help being disagreeable.
I suppose people of that kind serve some useful purpose in society, but I must say I don’t know what it is any more than I know the use of thistles.
Is Josie going to teach?”
“No, she is going back to Queen’s next year. So are Moody Spurgeon and Charlie Sloane.
Jane and Ruby are going to teach and they have both got schools—Jane at Newbridge and Ruby at some place up west.”
“Gilbert Blythe is going to teach too, isn’t he?”
“Yes”—briefly.
“What a nice-looking fellow he is,” said Marilla absently.
“I saw him in church last Sunday and he seemed so tall and manly.
He looks a lot like his father did at the same age.
John Blythe was a nice boy.
We used to be real good friends, he and I.
People called him my beau.”
Anne looked up with swift interest.
“Oh, Marilla—and what happened?—why didn’t you—”
“We had a quarrel.
I wouldn’t forgive him when he asked me to.
I meant to, after awhile—but I was sulky and angry and I wanted to punish him first.
He never came back—the Blythes were all mighty independent.
But I always felt—rather sorry.
I’ve always kind of wished I’d forgiven him when I had the chance.”
“So you’ve had a bit of romance in your life, too,” said Anne softly.