Anne's House of Dreams [74]
this morning after he had gone the solitude struck me like a blow in the face."
"It won't seem so hard by and by, dear," said Anne, who always felt the pain of her friends so keenly that she could not speak easy, fluent words of comforting. Besides, she remembered how well- meant speeches had hurt her in her own sorrow and was afraid.
"Oh, it seems to me it will grow harder all the time," said Leslie miserably. "I've nothing to look forward to. Morning will come after morning--and he will not come back--he will never come back. Oh, when I think that I will never see him again I feel as if a great brutal hand had twisted itself among my heartstrings, and was wrenching them. Once, long ago, I dreamed of love--and I thought it must be beautiful--and NOW--its like THIS. When he went away yesterday morning he was so cold and indifferent. He said `Good- bye, Mrs. Moore' in the coldest tone in the world--as if we had not even been friends--as if I meant absolutely nothing to him. I know I don't--I didn't want him to care--but he MIGHT have been a little kinder."
"Oh, I wish Gilbert would come," thought Anne. She was racked between her sympathy for Leslie and the necessity of avoiding anything that would betray Owen's confidence. She knew why his good-bye had been so cold--why it could not have the cordiality that their good-comradeship demanded--but she could not tell Leslie.
"I couldn't help it, Anne--I couldn't help it," said poor Leslie.
"I know that."
"Do you blame me so very much?"
"I don't blame you at all."
"And you won't--you won't tell Gilbert?"
" Leslie! Do you think I would do such a thing?"
"Oh, I don't know--you and Gilbert are such CHUMS. I don't see how you could help telling him everything."
"Everything about my own concerns--yes. But not my friends' secrets."
"I couldn't have HIM know. But I'm glad YOU know. I would feel guilty if there were anything I was ashamed to tell you. I hope Miss Cornelia won't find out. Sometimes I feel as if those terrible, kind brown eyes of hers read my very soul. Oh, I wish this mist would never lift--I wish I could just stay in it forever, hidden away from every living being. I don't see how I can go on with life. This summer has been so full. I never was lonely for a moment. Before Owen came there used to be horrible moments--when I had been with you and Gilbert--and then had to leave you. You two would walk away together and I would walk away ALONE. After Owen came he was always there to walk home with me--we would laugh and talk as you and Gilbert were doing--there were no more lonely, envious moments for me. And NOW! Oh, yes, I've been a fool. Let's have done talking about my folly. I'll never bore you with it again."
"Here is Gilbert, and you are coming back with us," said Anne, who had no intention of leaving Leslie to wander alone on the sand-bar on such a night and in such a mood. "There's plenty of room in our boat for three, and we'll tie the flat on behind."
"Oh, I suppose I must reconcile myself to being the odd one again," said poor Leslie with another bitter laugh. "Forgive me, Anne--that was hateful. I ought to be thankful--and I AM--that I have two good friends who are glad to count me in as a third. Don't mind my hateful speeches. I just seem to be one great pain all over and everything hurts me."
"Leslie seemed very quiet tonight, didn't she?" said Gilbert, when he and Anne reached home. "What in the world was she doing over there on the bar alone?"
"Oh, she was tired--and you know she likes to go to the shore after one of Dick's bad days."
"What a pity she hadn't met and married a fellow like Ford long ago," ruminated Gilbert. "They'd have made an ideal couple, wouldn't they?"
"For pity's sake, Gilbert, don't develop into a match-maker. It's an abominable profession for a man," cried Anne rather sharply, afraid that Gilbert might blunder on the truth if he kept on in this strain.
"Bless us, Anne-girl, I'm not matchmaking," protested Gilbert, rather surprised at her tone.
"It won't seem so hard by and by, dear," said Anne, who always felt the pain of her friends so keenly that she could not speak easy, fluent words of comforting. Besides, she remembered how well- meant speeches had hurt her in her own sorrow and was afraid.
"Oh, it seems to me it will grow harder all the time," said Leslie miserably. "I've nothing to look forward to. Morning will come after morning--and he will not come back--he will never come back. Oh, when I think that I will never see him again I feel as if a great brutal hand had twisted itself among my heartstrings, and was wrenching them. Once, long ago, I dreamed of love--and I thought it must be beautiful--and NOW--its like THIS. When he went away yesterday morning he was so cold and indifferent. He said `Good- bye, Mrs. Moore' in the coldest tone in the world--as if we had not even been friends--as if I meant absolutely nothing to him. I know I don't--I didn't want him to care--but he MIGHT have been a little kinder."
"Oh, I wish Gilbert would come," thought Anne. She was racked between her sympathy for Leslie and the necessity of avoiding anything that would betray Owen's confidence. She knew why his good-bye had been so cold--why it could not have the cordiality that their good-comradeship demanded--but she could not tell Leslie.
"I couldn't help it, Anne--I couldn't help it," said poor Leslie.
"I know that."
"Do you blame me so very much?"
"I don't blame you at all."
"And you won't--you won't tell Gilbert?"
" Leslie! Do you think I would do such a thing?"
"Oh, I don't know--you and Gilbert are such CHUMS. I don't see how you could help telling him everything."
"Everything about my own concerns--yes. But not my friends' secrets."
"I couldn't have HIM know. But I'm glad YOU know. I would feel guilty if there were anything I was ashamed to tell you. I hope Miss Cornelia won't find out. Sometimes I feel as if those terrible, kind brown eyes of hers read my very soul. Oh, I wish this mist would never lift--I wish I could just stay in it forever, hidden away from every living being. I don't see how I can go on with life. This summer has been so full. I never was lonely for a moment. Before Owen came there used to be horrible moments--when I had been with you and Gilbert--and then had to leave you. You two would walk away together and I would walk away ALONE. After Owen came he was always there to walk home with me--we would laugh and talk as you and Gilbert were doing--there were no more lonely, envious moments for me. And NOW! Oh, yes, I've been a fool. Let's have done talking about my folly. I'll never bore you with it again."
"Here is Gilbert, and you are coming back with us," said Anne, who had no intention of leaving Leslie to wander alone on the sand-bar on such a night and in such a mood. "There's plenty of room in our boat for three, and we'll tie the flat on behind."
"Oh, I suppose I must reconcile myself to being the odd one again," said poor Leslie with another bitter laugh. "Forgive me, Anne--that was hateful. I ought to be thankful--and I AM--that I have two good friends who are glad to count me in as a third. Don't mind my hateful speeches. I just seem to be one great pain all over and everything hurts me."
"Leslie seemed very quiet tonight, didn't she?" said Gilbert, when he and Anne reached home. "What in the world was she doing over there on the bar alone?"
"Oh, she was tired--and you know she likes to go to the shore after one of Dick's bad days."
"What a pity she hadn't met and married a fellow like Ford long ago," ruminated Gilbert. "They'd have made an ideal couple, wouldn't they?"
"For pity's sake, Gilbert, don't develop into a match-maker. It's an abominable profession for a man," cried Anne rather sharply, afraid that Gilbert might blunder on the truth if he kept on in this strain.
"Bless us, Anne-girl, I'm not matchmaking," protested Gilbert, rather surprised at her tone.