Anne of Ingleside - L. M. Montgomery [125]
‘Oh, Mummy, you look beautiful!’ gasped Rilla in round-eyed admiration. Well, children and fools were supposed to tell the truth. Had not Rebecca Dew once told her that she was ‘comparatively beautiful’? As for Gilbert, he used to pay her compliments in the past, but when had he given utterance to one of late months? Anne could not recall a single one.
Gilbert passed through on his way to his dressing closet and said not a word about her new dress. Anne stood for a moment burning with resentment: then she petulantly tore off the dress and flung it on the bed. She would wear her old black… a thin affair that was considered extremely ‘smart’ in Four Winds circles, but which Gilbert had never liked. What should she wear on her neck? Jem’s beads, though treasured for years, had long since crumbled. She really hadn’t a decent necklace. Well… she got out the little box containing the pink enamel heart Gilbert had given her at Redmond. She seldom wore it now… after all, pink didn’t go well with her red hair… but she would put it on tonight. Would Gilbert notice it? There, she was ready. Why wasn’t Gilbert? What was keeping him? Oh, no doubt he was shaving very carefully! She tapped sharply on the door.
‘Gilbert, we’re going to miss the train if you don’t hurry.’
‘You sound school-teacherish,’ said Gilbert, coming out. ‘Anything wrong with your metatarsals?’
Oh, he could make a joke of it, could he? She would not let herself think how well he looked in his tails. After all, the modern fashions of men’s clothes were really ridiculous. Entirely lacking in glamour. How gorgeous it must have been in ‘the spacious days of Great Elizabeth’ when men could wear white satin doublets and cloaks of crimson velvet and lace ruffs. Yet they were not effeminate. They were the most wonderful and adventurous men the world had ever seen.
‘Well, come along if you’re in such a hurry,’ said Gilbert absently. He was always absent now when he spoke to her. She was just a part of the furniture… yes, just a piece of furniture!
Jem drove them to the station. Susan and Miss Cornelia… who had come up to ask Susan if they could depend on her as usual for scalloped potatoes for the church supper… looked after them admiringly.
‘Anne is holding her own,’ said Miss Cornelia.
‘She is,’ agreed Susan, ‘though I have sometimes thought these past few weeks that her liver needed stirring up a bit. But she keeps her looks. And the doctor has got the same nice flat stomach he always had.’
‘An ideal couple,’ said Miss Cornelia.
The ideal couple said nothing in particular very beautifully all the way to town. Of course Gilbert was too profoundly stirred over the prospect of seeing his old love to talk to his wife! Anne sneezed. She began to be afraid she was taking a cold in the head. How ghastly it would be to sniffle all through dinner under the eyes of Mrs Andrew Dawson, née Christine Stuart! A spot on her lip stung… probably a horrible cold sore was coming on it. Did Juliet ever sneeze? Fancy Portia with chilblains! Or Argive Helen hiccupping! Or Cleopatra with corns!
When Anne came downstairs in the Barrett Fowler residence she stumbled over the bear’s head on the rug in the hall, staggered through the drawing-room door, across the wilderness of overstuffed furniture and gilt fandangoes Mrs Barrett Fowler called her drawing-room, and fell on the chesterfield, fortunately landing right side up. She looked about in dismay for Christine, then thankfully realized that Christine had not yet put in an appearance. How awful it would have been had she been sitting there amusedly watching Gilbert Blythe’s wife make such a drunken entrance! Gilbert hadn’t even asked if she were hurt. He was already deep in conversation with