“They’re a little bit too large and too mild—like a cow’s,” said Phil cruelly.
“What do you say about George Parker?”
“There’s nothing to say about him except that he always looks as if he had just
been starched and ironed.”
“Marr Holworthy then. You can’t find a fault with him.”
“No, he would do if he wasn’t poor. I must marry a rich man, Aunt Jamesina.
That—and good looks—is an indispensable qualification. I’d marry Gilbert
Blythe if he were rich.”
“Oh, would you?” said Anne, rather viciously.
“We don’t like that idea a little bit, although we don’t want Gilbert ourselves,
oh, no,” mocked Phil. “But don’t let’s talk of disagreeable subjects. I’ll have to
marry sometime, I suppose, but I shall put off the evil day as long as I can.”
“You mustn’t marry anybody you don’t love, Phil, when all’s said and done,”
said Aunt Jamesina.
“‘Oh, hearts that loved in the good old way
Have been out o’ the fashion this many a day.’”
trilled Phil mockingly. “There’s the carriage. I fly—Bi-bi, you two old-
fashioned darlings.”
When Phil had gone Aunt Jamesina looked solemnly at Anne.
“That girl is pretty and sweet and goodhearted, but do you think she is quite
right in her mind, by spells, Anne?”
“Oh, I don’t think there’s anything the matter with Phil’s mind,” said Anne,
hiding a smile. “It’s just her way of talking.”
Aunt Jamesina shook her head.
“Well, I hope so, Anne. I do hope so, because I love her. But I can’t
understand her—she beats me. She isn’t like any of the girls I ever knew, or any
of the girls I was myself.”
“How many girls were you, Aunt Jimsie?”
“About half a dozen, my dear.”