Anne of Ingleside - L. M. Montgomery [126]
Christine stood for an impressive moment in the doorway. No falling over bears’ heads for her. Christine, Anne remembered, had of old that habit of pausing in the doorway to show herself off. And no doubt she regarded this as an excellent chance to show Gilbert what he had lost.
She wore a gown of purple velvet with long, flowing sleeves, lined with gold, and a fish-tail train lined with gold lace. A gold bandeau encircled the still dark wings of her hair. A long, thin gold chain, starred with diamonds, hung from her neck. Anne instantly felt frumpy, provincial, unfinished, dowdy, and six months behind the fashion. She wished she had not put on that silly enamel heart.
There was no question that Christine was as handsome as ever. A bit too sleek and well-preserved, perhaps… yes, considerably stouter. Her nose had assuredly not grown any shorter and her chin was definitely middle-aged. Standing in the doorway like that, you saw that her feet were… substantial. And wasn’t her air of distinction getting a little shop-worn? But her cheeks were still like smooth ivory and her great dark-blue eyes still looked out brilliantly from under that intriguing parallel crease that had been considered so fascinating at Redmond. Yes, Mrs Andrew Dawson was a very handsome woman… and did not at all convey the impression that her heart had been wholly buried in the said Andrew Dawson’s grave.
Christine took possession of the whole room the moment she entered it. Anne felt as if she were not in the picture at all.
But she sat up erectly. Christine should not see any middle-aged sag. She would go into battle with all flags flying. Her grey eyes turned exceedingly green and a faint flush coloured her oval cheek. Remember you have a nose! Dr Murray, who had not noticed her particularly before, thought in some surprise that Blythe had a very uncommon-looking wife. That posturing Mrs Dawson looked positively commonplace beside her.
‘Why, Gilbert Blythe, you’re as handsome as ever,’ Christine was saying archly… Christine arch!… ‘It’s so nice to find you haven’t changed.’
(She talks with the same old drawl. How I always hated that velvet voice of hers!)
‘When I look at you,’ said Gilbert, ‘time ceases to have any meaning at all. Where did you learn the secret of immortal youth?’
Christine laughed.
(Isn’t her laughter a little tinny?)
‘You could always pay a pretty compliment, Gilbert. You know’… with an arch glance around the circle… ‘Dr Blythe was an old flame of mine in those days he is pretending to think were of yesterday. And Anne Shirley! You haven’t changed as much as I’ve been told… though I don’t think I’d have known you if we’d just happened to meet on the street. Your hair is a little darker than it used to be, isn’t it? Isn’t it divine to meet again like this? I was so afraid your lumbago wouldn’t let you come.’
‘My lumbago!’
‘Why, yes, aren’t you subject to it? I thought you were…’
‘I must have got things twisted,’ said Mrs Fowler apologetically. ‘Somebody told me you were down with a very severe attack of lumbago…’
‘That is Mrs Dr Parker of Lowbridge. I have never had lumbago in my life,’ said Anne in a flat voice.
‘How very nice that you haven’t got it,’ said Christine, with something faintly insolent in her tone. ‘It’s such a wretched thing. I have an aunt who is a perfect martyr to it.’
Her air seemed to relegate Anne to the generation of aunts. Anne managed a smile with her lips, not her eyes. If she could only think of something clever to say! She knew that at three o’clock that night she would probably think of a brilliant retort she might have made, but that did not help now.
‘They tell me you have seven children,’ said Christine, speaking to Anne