Lucy Maud Montgomery, The Woman Behind The Books - Memoirs & Private Letters (Including The Complete Anne of Green Gables Series, Emily Starr Trilogy & The Blue Castle). Lucy Maud Montgomery
Читать онлайн книгу.
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.
Chapter XXXIX.
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.”
“This won’t spoil OUR friendship, will it, Dorothy?” Anne had asked wistfully.
“No, indeed. You’re too good to lose. If I can’t have you for a sister I mean to keep you as a chum anyway. And don’t fret over Roy. He is feeling terribly just now — I have to listen to his outpourings every day — but he’ll get over it. He always does.”
“Oh — ALWAYS?” said Anne with a slight change of voice. “So he has ‘got over it’ before?”
“Dear me, yes,” said Dorothy frankly. “Twice before. And he raved to me just the same both times. Not that the others actually refused him — they simply announced their engagements to some one else. Of course, when he met you he vowed to me that he had never really loved before — that the previous affairs had been merely boyish fancies. But I don’t think you need worry.”
Anne decided not to worry. Her feelings were a mixture of relief and resentment. Roy had certainly told her she was the only one he had ever loved. No doubt he believed it. But it was a comfort to feel that she had not, in all likelihood, ruined his life. There were other goddesses, and Roy, according to Dorothy, must needs be worshipping at some shrine. Nevertheless, life was stripped of several more illusions, and Anne began to think drearily that it seemed rather bare.
She came down from the porch gable on the evening of her return with a sorrowful face.
“What has happened to the old Snow Queen, Marilla?”
“Oh, I knew you’d feel bad over that,” said Marilla. “I felt bad myself. That tree was there ever since I was a young girl. It blew down in the big gale we had in March. It was rotten at the core.”
“I’ll miss it so,” grieved Anne. “The porch gable doesn’t seem the same room without it. I’ll never look from its window again without a sense of loss. And oh, I never came home to Green Gables before that Diana wasn’t here to welcome me.”
“Diana has something else to think of just now,” said Mrs. Lynde significantly.
“Well, tell me all the Avonlea news,” said Anne, sitting down on the porch steps, where the evening sunshine fell over her hair in a fine golden rain.
“There isn’t much news except what we’ve wrote you,” said Mrs. Lynde. “I suppose you haven’t heard that Simon Fletcher broke his leg last week. It’s a great thing for his family. They’re getting a hundred things done that they’ve always wanted to do but couldn’t as long as he was about, the old crank.”
“He came of an aggravating family,” remarked Marilla.
“Aggravating? Well, rather! His mother used to get up in prayer-meeting and tell all her children’s shortcomings and ask prayers for them. ‘Course it made them mad, and worse than ever.”
“You haven’t told Anne the news about Jane,” suggested Marilla.
“Oh, Jane,” sniffed Mrs. Lynde. “Well,” she conceded grudgingly, “Jane Andrews is home from the West — came last week — and she’s going to be married to a Winnipeg millionaire. You may be sure Mrs. Harmon lost no time in telling it far and wide.”
“Dear old Jane — I’m so glad,” said Anne heartily. “She deserves the good things of life.”
“Oh, I ain’t saying anything against Jane. She’s a nice enough girl. But she isn’t in the millionaire class, and you’ll find there’s not much to recommend that man but his money, that’s what. Mrs. Harmon says he’s an Englishman who has made money in mines but I believe he’ll turn out to be a Yankee. He certainly must have money, for he has just showered Jane with jewelry. Her engagement ring is a diamond cluster so big that it looks like a plaster on Jane’s fat paw.”
Mrs. Lynde could not keep some bitterness out of her tone. Here was Jane Andrews, that plain little plodder, engaged to a millionaire, while Anne, it seemed, was not yet bespoken by any one, rich or poor. And Mrs. Harmon Andrews did brag insufferably.
“What has Gilbert Blythe been doing to at college?” asked Marilla. “I saw him when he came home last week, and he is so pale and thin I hardly knew him.”
“He studied very hard last winter,” said Anne. “You know he took High Honors in Classics and the Cooper Prize. It hasn’t been taken for five years! So I think he’s rather run down. We’re all a little tired.”
“Anyhow, you’re a B.A. and Jane Andrews isn’t and never will be,” said Mrs. Lynde, with gloomy satisfaction.
A few evenings later Anne went down to see Jane, but the latter was away in Charlottetown—”getting sewing done,” Mrs. Harmon informed Anne proudly. “Of course an Avonlea dressmaker wouldn’t do for Jane under the circumstances.”
“I’ve heard something very nice about Jane,” said Anne.
“Yes,