he was the nicest young man she ever knew, and that Anne was a very fortunate
girl. Such remarks made Anne restive. Roy’s wooing had certainly been as
romantic as girlish heart could desire, but—she wished Aunt Jamesina and the
girls would not take things so for granted. When Roy murmured a poetical
compliment as he helped her on with her coat, she did not blush and thrill as
usual; and he found her rather silent in their brief walk to Redmond. He thought
she looked a little pale when she came out of the coeds’ dressing room; but as
they entered the reception room her color and sparkle suddenly returned to her.
She turned to Roy with her gayest expression. He smiled back at her with what
Phil called “his deep, black, velvety smile.” Yet she really did not see Roy at all.
She was acutely conscious that Gilbert was standing under the palms just across
the room talking to a girl who must be Christine Stuart.
She was very handsome, in the stately style destined to become rather massive
in middle life. A tall girl, with large dark-blue eyes, ivory outlines, and a gloss of
darkness on her smooth hair.
“She looks just as I’ve always wanted to look,” thought Anne miserably.
“Rose-leaf complexion—starry violet eyes—raven hair—yes, she has them all.
It’s a wonder her name isn’t Cordelia Fitzgerald into the bargain! But I don’t
believe her figure is as good as mine, and her nose certainly isn’t.”
Anne felt a little comforted by this conclusion.