Chapter IX
An Unwelcome Lover and a Welcome Friend
The second term at Redmond sped as quickly as had the first—“actually
whizzed away,” Philippa said. Anne enjoyed it thoroughly in all its phases—the
stimulating class rivalry, the making and deepening of new and helpful
friendships, the gay little social stunts, the doings of the various societies of
which she was a member, the widening of horizons and interests. She studied
hard, for she had made up her mind to win the Thorburn Scholarship in English.
This being won, meant that she could come back to Redmond the next year
without trenching on Marilla’s small savings—something Anne was determined
she would not do.
Gilbert, too, was in full chase after a scholarship, but found plenty of time for
frequent calls at Thirty-eight, St. John’s. He was Anne’s escort at nearly all the
college affairs, and she knew that their names were coupled in Redmond gossip.
Anne raged over this but was helpless; she could not cast an old friend like
Gilbert aside, especially when he had grown suddenly wise and wary, as
behooved him in the dangerous proximity of more than one Redmond youth who
would gladly have taken his place by the side of the slender, red-haired coed,
whose gray eyes were as alluring as stars of evening. Anne was never attended
by the crowd of willing victims who hovered around Philippa’s conquering
march through her Freshman year; but there was a lanky, brainy Freshie, a jolly,
little, round Sophomore, and a tall, learned Junior who all liked to call at Thirty-
eight, St. John’s, and talk over ‘ologies and ‘isms, as well as lighter subjects,
with Anne, in the becushioned parlor of that domicile. Gilbert did not love any
of them, and he was exceedingly careful to give none of them the advantage over
him by any untimely display of his real feelings Anne-ward. To her he had
become again the boy-comrade of Avonlea days, and as such could hold his own
against any smitten swain who had so far entered the lists against him. As a
companion, Anne honestly acknowledged nobody could be so satisfactory as
Gilbert; she was very glad, so she told herself, that he had evidently dropped all
nonsensical ideas—though she spent considerable time secretly wondering why.
Only one disagreeable incident marred that winter. Charlie Sloane, sitting bolt
upright on Miss Ada’s most dearly beloved cushion, asked Anne one night if she