Enter Christine
The girls at Patty’s Place were dressing for the reception which the
Juniors were giving for the Seniors in February. Anne surveyed herself
in the mirror of the blue room with girlish satisfaction. She had a
particularly pretty gown on. Originally it had been only a simple
little slip of cream silk with a chiffon overdress. But Phil had
insisted on taking it home with her in the Christmas holidays and
embroidering tiny rosebuds all over the chiffon. Phil’s fingers were
deft, and the result was a dress which was the envy of every Redmond
girl. Even Allie Boone, whose frocks came from Paris, was wont to look
with longing eyes on that rosebud concoction as Anne trailed up the
main staircase at Redmond in it.
Anne was trying the effect of a white orchid in her hair. Roy Gardner
had sent her white orchids for the reception, and she knew no other
Redmond girl would have them that night—when Phil came in with admiring
gaze.
“Anne, this is certainly your night for looking handsome. Nine nights
out of ten I can easily outshine you. The tenth you blossom out
suddenly into something that eclipses me altogether. How do you manage
it?”
“It’s the dress, dear. Fine feathers.”
“’Tisn’t. The last evening you flamed out into beauty you wore your old
blue flannel shirtwaist that Mrs. Lynde made you. If Roy hadn’t already
lost head and heart about you he certainly would tonight. But I don’t
like orchids on you, Anne. No; it isn’t jealousy. Orchids don’t seem to
_belong_ to you. They’re too exotic—too tropical—too insolent. Don’t
put them in your hair, anyway.”
“Well, I won’t. I admit I’m not fond of orchids myself. I don’t think
they’re related to me. Roy doesn’t often send them—he knows I like
flowers I can live with. Orchids are only things you can visit with.”
“Jonas sent me some dear pink rosebuds for the evening—but—he isn’t
coming himself. He said he had to lead a prayer-meeting in the slums! I
don’t believe he wanted to come. Anne, I’m horribly afraid Jonas
doesn’t really care anything about me. And I’m trying to decide whether
I’ll pine away and die, or go on and get my B.A. and be sensible and
useful.”
“You couldn’t possibly be sensible and useful, Phil, so you’d better
pine away and die,” said Anne cruelly.
“Heartless Anne!”
“Silly Phil! You know quite well that Jonas loves you.”
“But—he won’t _tell_ me so. And I can’t _make_ him. He _looks_ it, I’ll
admit. But speak-to-me-only-with-thine-eyes isn’t a really reliable
reason for embroidering doilies and hemstitching tablecloths. I don’t
want to begin such work until I’m really engaged. It would be tempting
Fate.”
“Mr. Blake is afraid to ask you to marry him, Phil. He is poor and
can’t offer you a home such as you’ve always had. You know that is the
only reason he hasn’t spoken long ago.”
“I suppose so,” agreed Phil dolefully. “Well”—brightening up—“if he
_won’t_ ask me to marry him I’ll ask him, that’s all. So it’s bound to
come right. I won’t worry. By the way, Gilbert Blythe is going about
constantly with Christine Stuart. Did you know?”
Anne was trying to fasten a little gold chain about her throat. She
suddenly found the clasp difficult to manage. _What_ was the matter
with it—or with her fingers?
“No,” she said carelessly. “Who is Christine Stuart?”
“Ronald Stuart’s sister. She’s in Kingsport this winter studying music.
I haven’t seen her, but they say she’s very pretty and that Gilbert is
quite crazy over her. How angry I was when you refused Gilbert, Anne.
But Roy Gardner was foreordained for you. I can see that now. You were
right, after all.”
Anne did not blush, as she usually did when the girls assumed that her
eventual marriage to Roy Gardner was a settled thing. All at once she
felt rather dull. Phil’s chatter seemed trivial and the reception a
bore. She boxed poor Rusty’s ears.
“Get off that cushion instantly, you cat, you! Why don’t you stay down
where you belong?”
Anne picked up her orchids and went downstairs, where Aunt Jamesina was
presiding over a row of coats hung before the fire to warm. Roy Gardner
was waiting for Anne and teasing the Sarah-cat while he waited. The
Sarah-cat did not approve of him. She always turned her back on him.
But everybody else at Patty’s Place liked him very much. Aunt Jamesina,
carried away by his unfailing and deferential courtesy, and the
pleading tones of his delightful voice, declared 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.