Everybody concerned in Miss Lavendar’s story was very happy. Paul Irving rushed to Green Gables to talk the news over with Anne as soon as his father had told him.
“I knew I could trust father to pick me out a nice little second mother,” he said proudly. “It’s a fine thing to have a father you can depend on, teacher. I just love Miss Lavendar. Grandma is pleased, too. She says she’s real glad father didn’t pick out an American for his second wife, because, although it turned out all right the first time, such a thing wouldn’t be likely to happen twice. Mrs. Lynde says she thoroughly8 approves of the match and thinks its likely Miss Lavendar will give up her queer notions and be like other people, now that she’s going to be married. But I hope she won’t give her queer notions up, teacher, because I like them. And I don’t want her to be like other people. There are too many other people around as it is. YOU know, teacher.”
Charlotta the Fourth was another radiant person.
“Oh, Miss Shirley, ma’am, it has all turned out so beautiful. When Mr. Irving and Miss Lavendar come back from their tower I’m to go up to Boston and live with them . . . and me only fifteen, and the other girls never went till they were sixteen. Ain’t Mr. Irving splendid? He just worships the ground she treads on and it makes me feel so queer sometimes to see the look in his eyes when he’s watching her. It beggars description, Miss Shirley, ma’am. I’m awful thankful they’re so fond of each other. It’s the best way, when all’s said and done, though some folks can get along without it. I’ve got an aunt who has been married three times and says she married the first time for love and the last two times for strictly9 business, and was happy with all three except at the times of the funerals. But I think she took a resk, Miss Shirley, ma’am.”
“Oh, it’s all so romantic,” breathed Anne to Marilla that night. “If I hadn’t taken the wrong path that day we went to Mr. Kimball’s I’d never have known Miss Lavendar; and if I hadn’t met her I’d never have taken Paul there . . . and he’d never have written to his father about visiting Miss Lavendar just as Mr. Irving was starting for San Francisco. Mr. Irving says whenever he got that letter he made up his mind to send his partner to San Francisco and come here instead. He hadn’t heard anything of Miss Lavendar for fifteen years. Somebody had told him then that she was to be married and he thought she was and never asked anybody anything about her. And now everything has come right. And I had a hand in bringing it about. Perhaps, as Mrs. Lynde says, everything is foreordained and it was bound to happen anyway. But even so, it’s nice to think one was an instrument used by predestination. Yes indeed, it’s very romantic.”
“I can’t see that it’s so terribly romantic at all,” said Marilla rather crisply. Marilla thought Anne was too worked up about it and had plenty to do with getting ready for college without “traipsing” to Echo Lodge two days out of three helping10 Miss Lavendar. “In the first place two young fools quarrel and turn sulky; then Steve Irving goes to the States and after a spell gets married up there and is perfectly11 happy from all accounts. Then his wife dies and after a decent interval12 he thinks he’ll come home and see if his first fancy’ll have him. Meanwhile, she’s been living single, probably because nobody nice enough came along to want her, and they meet and agree to be married after all. Now, where is the romance in all that?”
“Oh, there isn’t any, when you put it that way,” gasped13 Anne, rather as if somebody had thrown cold water over her. “I suppose that’s how it looks in prose. But it’s very different if you look at it through poetry . . . and I think it’s nicer . . .” Anne recovered herself and her eyes shone and her cheeks flushed . . . “to look at it through poetry.”
Marilla glanced at the radiant young face and refrained from further sarcastic14 comments. Perhaps some realization15 came to her that after all it was better to have, like Anne, “the vision and the faculty16 divine” . . . that gift which the world cannot bestow17 or take away, of looking at life through some transfiguring . . . or revealing? . . . medium, whereby everything seemed apparelled in celestial18 light, wearing a glory and a freshness not visible to those who, like herself and Charlotta the Fourth, looked at things only through prose.
“When’s the wedding to be?” she asked after a pause.
“The last Wednesday in August. They are to be married in the garden under the honeysuckle trellis . . . the very spot where Mr. Irving proposed to her twenty-five years ago. Marilla, that IS romantic, even in prose. There’s to be nobody there except Mrs. Irving and Paul and Gilbert and Diana and I, and Miss Lavendar’s cousins. And they will leave on the six o’clock train for a trip to the Pacific coast. When they come back in the fall Paul and Charlotta the Fourth are to go up to Boston to live with them. But Echo Lodge is to be left just as it is. . . only of course they’ll sell the hens and cow, and board up the windows . . . and every summer they’re coming down to live in it. I’m so glad. It would have hurt me dreadfully next winter at Redmond to think of that dear stone house all stripped and deserted19, with empty rooms . . . or far worse still, with other people living in it. But I can think of it now, just as I’ve always seen it, waiting happily for the summer to bring life and laughter back to it again.”
There was more romance in the world than that which had fallen to the share of the middle-aged20 lovers of the stone house. Anne stumbled suddenly on it one evening when she went over to Orchard21 Slope by the wood cut and came out into the Barry garden. Diana Barry and Fred Wright were standing22 together under the big willow23. Diana was leaning against the gray trunk, her lashes24 cast down on very crimson25 cheeks. One hand was held by Fred, who stood with his face bent26 toward her, stammering27 something in low earnest tones. There were no other people in the world except their two selves at that magic moment; so neither of them saw Anne, who, after one dazed glance of comprehension, turned and sped noiselessly back through the spruce wood, never stopping till she gained her own gable room, where she sat breathlessly down by her window and tried to collect her scattered28 wits.
“Diana and Fred are in love with each other,” she gasped. “Oh, it does seem so . . . so . . . so HOPELESSLY grown up.”
Anne, of late, had not been without her suspicions that Diana was proving false to the melancholy29 Byronic hero of her early dreams. But as “things seen are mightier30 than things heard,” or suspected, the realization that it was actually so came to her with almost the shock of perfect surprise. This was succeeded by a queer, little lonely feeling . . . as if, somehow, Diana had gone forward into a new world, shutting a gate behind her, leaving Anne on the outside.
“Things are changing so fast it almost frightens me,” Anne thought, a little sadly. “And I’m afraid that this can’t help making some difference between Diana and me. I’m sure I can’t tell her all my secrets after this . . . she might tell Fred. And what CAN she see in Fred? He’s very nice and jolly . . . but he’s just Fred Wright.”
It is always a very puzzling question . . . what can somebody see in somebody else? But how fortunate after all that it is so, for if everybody saw alike . . . well, in that case, as the old Indian said, “Everybody would want my squaw.” It was plain that Diana DID see something in Fred Wright, however Anne’s eyes might be holden. Diana came to Green Gables the next evening, a pensive31, shy young lady, and told Anne the whole story in the dusky seclusion32 of the east gable. Both girls cried and kissed and laughed.
“I’m so happy,” said Diana, “but it does seem ridiculous to think of me being engaged.”
“Well, that all depends on who you’re engaged to,” answered Diana, with that maddening air of superior wisdom always assumed by those who are engaged over those who are not. “It’s perfectly lovely to be engaged to Fred . . . but I think it would be simply horrid34 to be engaged to anyone else.”
“There’s not much comfort for the rest of us in that, seeing that there is only one Fred,” laughed Anne.
“Oh, Anne, you don’t understand,” said Diana in vexation. “I didn’t mean THAT . . . it’s so hard to explain. Never mind, you’ll understand sometime, when your own turn comes.”
“Bless you, dearest of Dianas, I understand now. What is an imagination for if not to enable you to peep at life through other people’s eyes?”
“You must be my bridesmaid, you know, Anne. Promise me that . . . wherever you may be when I’m married.”
“I’ll come from the ends of the earth if necessary,” promised Anne solemnly.
“Of course, it won’t be for ever so long yet,” said Diana, blushing. “Three years at the very least . . . for I’m only eighteen and mother says no daughter of hers shall be married before she’s twenty-one. Besides, Fred’s father is going to buy the Abraham Fletcher farm for him and he says he’s got to have it two thirds paid for before he’ll give it to him in his own name. But three years isn’t any too much time to get ready for housekeeping, for I haven’t a speck35 of fancy work made yet. But I’m going to begin crocheting36 doilies tomorrow. Myra Gillis had thirty-seven doilies when she was married and I’m determined37 I shall have as many as she had.”
“I suppose it would be perfectly impossible to keep house with only thirty-six doilies,” conceded Anne, with a solemn face but dancing eyes.
Diana looked hurt.
“I didn’t think you’d make fun of me, Anne,” she said reproachfully.
“Dearest, I wasn’t making fun of you,” cried Anne repentantly. “I was only teasing you a bit. I think you’ll make the sweetest little housekeeper38 in the world. And I think it’s perfectly lovely of you to be planning already for your home o’dreams.”
Anne had no sooner uttered the phrase, “home o’dreams,” than it captivated her fancy and she immediately began the erection of one of her own. It was, of course, tenanted by an ideal master, dark, proud, and melancholy; but oddly enough, Gilbert Blythe persisted in hanging about too, helping her arrange pictures, lay out gardens, and accomplish sundry39 other tasks which a proud and melancholy hero evidently considered beneath his dignity. Anne tried to banish40 Gilbert’s image from her castle in Spain but, somehow, he went on being there, so Anne, being in a hurry, gave up the attempt and pursued her aerial architecture with such success that her “home o’dreams” was built and furnished before Diana spoke41 again.
“I suppose, Anne, you must think it’s funny I should like Fred so well when he’s so different from the kind of man I’ve always said I would marry . . . the tall, slender kind? But somehow I wouldn’t want Fred to be tall and slender . . . because, don’t you see, he wouldn’t be Fred then. Of course,” added Diana rather dolefully, “we will be a dreadfully pudgy couple. But after all that’s better than one of us being short and fat and the other tall and lean, like Morgan Sloane and his wife. Mrs. Lynde says it always makes her think of the long and short of it when she sees them together.”
“Well,” said Anne to herself that night, as she brushed her hair before her gilt42 framed mirror, “I am glad Diana is so happy and satisfied. But when my turn comes . . . if it ever does . . . I do hope there’ll be something a little more thrilling about it. But then Diana thought so too, once. I’ve heard her say time and again she’d never get engaged any poky commonplace way . . . he’d HAVE to do something splendid to win her. But she has changed. Perhaps I’ll change too. But I won’t . . . and I’m determined I won’t. Oh, I think these engagements are dreadfully unsettling things when they happen to your intimate friends.”
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1 outfit | |
n.(为特殊用途的)全套装备,全套服装 | |
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2 consultations | |
n.磋商(会议)( consultation的名词复数 );商讨会;协商会;查找 | |
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3 hovering | |
鸟( hover的现在分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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4 outskirts | |
n.郊外,郊区 | |
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5 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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6 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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7 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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8 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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9 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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10 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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11 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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12 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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13 gasped | |
v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 );喘息;倒抽气;很想要 | |
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14 sarcastic | |
adj.讥讽的,讽刺的,嘲弄的 | |
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15 realization | |
n.实现;认识到,深刻了解 | |
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16 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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17 bestow | |
v.把…赠与,把…授予;花费 | |
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18 celestial | |
adj.天体的;天上的 | |
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19 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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20 middle-aged | |
adj.中年的 | |
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21 orchard | |
n.果园,果园里的全部果树,(美俚)棒球场 | |
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22 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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23 willow | |
n.柳树 | |
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24 lashes | |
n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 );鞭子;突然猛烈的一击;急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 );煽动;紧系;怒斥 | |
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25 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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26 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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27 stammering | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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28 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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29 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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30 mightier | |
adj. 强有力的,强大的,巨大的 adv. 很,极其 | |
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31 pensive | |
a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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32 seclusion | |
n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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33 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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34 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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35 speck | |
n.微粒,小污点,小斑点 | |
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36 crocheting | |
v.用钩针编织( crochet的现在分词 );钩编 | |
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37 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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38 housekeeper | |
n.管理家务的主妇,女管家 | |
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39 sundry | |
adj.各式各样的,种种的 | |
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40 banish | |
vt.放逐,驱逐;消除,排除 | |
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41 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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42 gilt | |
adj.镀金的;n.金边证券 | |
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