hailed her B.A.; it was not of the flash in Gilbert’s eyes when he saw her lilies,
nor the puzzled pained glance Roy gave her as he passed her on the platform. It
was not of Aline Gardner’s condescending congratulations, or Dorothy’s ardent,
impulsive good wishes. It was of one strange, unaccountable pang that spoiled
this long-expected day for her and left in it a certain faint but enduring flavor of
bitterness.
The Arts graduates gave a graduation dance that night. When Anne dressed
for it she tossed aside the pearl beads she usually wore and took from her trunk
the small box that had come to Green Gables on Christmas day. In it was a
thread-like gold chain with a tiny pink enamel heart as a pendant. On the
accompanying card was written, “With all good wishes from your old chum,
Gilbert.” Anne, laughing over the memory the enamel heart conjured up the fatal
day when Gilbert had called her “Carrots” and vainly tried to make his peace
with a pink candy heart, had written him a nice little note of thanks. But she had
never worn the trinket. Tonight she fastened it about her white throat with a
dreamy smile.
She and Phil walked to Redmond together. Anne walked in silence; Phil
chattered of many things. Suddenly she said,
“I heard today that Gilbert Blythe’s engagement to Christine Stuart was to be
announced as soon as Convocation was over. Did you hear anything of it?”
“No,” said Anne.
“I think it’s true,” said Phil lightly.
Anne did not speak. In the darkness she felt her face burning. She slipped her
hand inside her collar and caught at the gold chain. One energetic twist and it
gave way. Anne thrust the broken trinket into her pocket. Her hands were
trembling and her eyes were smarting.
But she was the gayest of all the gay revellers that night, and told Gilbert
unregretfully that her card was full when he came to ask her for a dance.
Afterwards, when she sat with the girls before the dying embers at Patty’s Place,
removing the spring chilliness from their satin skins, none chatted more blithely
than she of the day’s events.
“Moody Spurgeon MacPherson called here tonight after you left,” said Aunt
Jamesina, who had sat up to keep the fire on. “He didn’t know about the
graduation dance. That boy ought to sleep with a rubber band around his head to
train his ears not to stick out. I had a beau once who did that and it improved him
immensely. It was I who suggested it to him and he took my advice, but he never
forgave me for it.”