indifferent tolerance with which she regarded him, when he happened to be in
her range of vision, be considered positive enough for liking? WHAT was Jane
trying to elucidate?
“Would you like him for a husband?” asked Jane calmly.
“A husband!” Anne had been sitting up in bed, the better to wrestle with the
problem of her exact opinion of Billy Andrews. Now she fell flatly back on her
pillows, the very breath gone out of her. “Whose husband?”
“Yours, of course,” answered Jane. “Billy wants to marry you. He’s always
been crazy about you—and now father has given him the upper farm in his own
name and there’s nothing to prevent him from getting married. But he’s so shy
he couldn’t ask you himself if you’d have him, so he got me to do it. I’d rather
not have, but he gave me no peace till I said I would, if I got a good chance.
What do you think about it, Anne?”
Was it a dream? Was it one of those nightmare things in which you find
yourself engaged or married to some one you hate or don’t know, without the
slightest idea how it ever came about? No, she, Anne Shirley, was lying there,
wide awake, in her own bed, and Jane Andrews was beside her, calmly
proposing for her brother Billy. Anne did not know whether she wanted to
writhe or laugh; but she could do neither, for Jane’s feelings must not be hurt.
“I—I couldn’t marry Bill, you know, Jane,” she managed to gasp. “Why, such
an idea never occurred to me—never!”
“I don’t suppose it did,” agreed Jane. “Billy has always been far too shy to
think of courting. But you might think it over, Anne. Billy is a good fellow. I
must say that, if he is my brother. He has no bad habits and he’s a great worker,
and you can depend on him. ‘A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.’ He
told me to tell you he’d be quite willing to wait till you got through college, if
you insisted, though he’d RATHER get married this spring before the planting
begins. He’d always be very good to you, I’m sure, and you know, Anne, I’d
love to have you for a sister.”
“I can’t marry Billy,” said Anne decidedly. She had recovered her wits, and
was even feeling a little angry. It was all so ridiculous. “There is no use thinking
of it, Jane. I don’t care anything for him in that way, and you must tell him so.”
“Well, I didn’t suppose you would,” said Jane with a resigned sigh, feeling
that she had done her best. “I told Billy I didn’t believe it was a bit of use to ask
you, but he insisted. Well, you’ve made your decision, Anne, and I hope you
won’t regret it.”
Jane spoke rather coldly. She had been perfectly sure that the enamored Billy