“Yes.”
“Anne Shirley, are you in your senses?”
“I think so,” said Anne wearily.
“Oh, Phil, don’t scold me. You don’t
understand.”
“I certainly don’t understand. You’ve
encouraged Roy Gardner in every way for two years—and
now you tell me you’ve refused him. Then
you’ve just been flirting scandalously with
him. Anne, I couldn’t have believed it
of you.”
“I wasn’t flirting with him—I
honestly thought I cared up to the last minute—and
then—well, I just knew I never could
marry him.”
“I suppose,” said Phil cruelly, “that
you intended to marry him for his money, and then
your better self rose up and prevented you.”
“I didn’t. I never thought about
his money. Oh, I can’t explain it to you
any more than I could to him.”
“Well, I certainly think you have treated Roy
shamefully,” said Phil in exasperation.
“He’s handsome and clever and rich and
good. What more do you want?”
“I want some one who belongs in my life.
He doesn’t. I was swept off my feet at
first by his good looks and knack of paying romantic
compliments; and later on I thought I must be
in love because he was my dark-eyed ideal.”
“I am bad enough for not knowing my own mind,
but you are worse,” said Phil.
“I do know my own mind,” protested
Anne. “The trouble is, my mind changes
and then I have to get acquainted with it all over
again.”
“Well, I suppose there is no use in saying anything
to you.”
“There is no need, Phil. I’m in the
dust. This has spoiled everything backwards.
I can never think of Redmond days without recalling
the humiliation of this evening. Roy despises
me—and you despise me—and I
despise myself.”
“You poor darling,” said Phil, melting.
“Just come here and let me comfort you.
I’ve no right to scold you. I’d have
married Alec or Alonzo if I hadn’t met Jo.
Oh, Anne, things are so mixed-up in real life.
They aren’t clear-cut and trimmed off, as they
are in novels.”
“I hope that no one will ever again ask
me to marry him as long as I live,” sobbed poor
Anne, devoutly believing that she meant it.
Deals with Weddings
Anne felt that life partook of the nature of an anticlimax
during the first few weeks after her return to Green
Gables. She missed the merry comradeship of Patty’s
Place. She had dreamed some brilliant dreams
during the past winter and now they lay in the dust
around her. In her present mood of self-disgust,
she could not immediately begin dreaming again.
And she discovered that, while solitude with dreams
is glorious, solitude without them has few charms.
She had not seen Roy again after their painful parting
in the park pavilion; but Dorothy came to see her
before she left Kingsport.
“I’m awfully sorry you won’t marry
Roy,” she said. “I did want you for
a sister. But you are quite right. He would
bore you to death. I love him, and he is a dear
sweet boy, but really he isn’t a bit interesting.
He looks as if he ought to be, but he isn’t.”
