Аня з Авонлеї
XX. The Way It Often Happens
“YOU,atleast,mustknowthattheneatestpersonintheworldcouldn’temptyfeathersfromonetickintoanotherandremainneatintheprocess.”
“It...it...isn’tthefeathers,”hesitatedDiana.“It’s...it’s...yournose,Anne.”
“Mynose?Oh,Diana,surelynothinghasgonewrongwithit!”
Annerushedtothelittlelookingglassoverthesink.Oneglancerevealedthefataltruth.Hernosewasabrilliantscarlet!
Annesatdownonthesofa,herdauntlessspiritsubduedatlast.
“Whatisthematterwithit?”askedDiana,curiosityovercomingdelicacy.
“IthoughtIwasrubbingmyfrecklelotiononit,butImusthaveusedthatreddyeMarillahasformarkingthepatternonherrugs,”wasthedespairingresponse.“WhatshallIdo?”
“Washitoff,”saidDianapractically.
“Perhapsitwon’twashoff.FirstIdyemyhair;thenIdyemynose.MarillacutmyhairoffwhenIdyeditbutthatremedywouldhardlybepracticableinthiscase.Well,thisisanotherpunishmentforvanityandIsupposeIdeserveit...thoughthere’snotmuchcomfortinTHAT.Itisreallyalmostenoughtomakeonebelieveinill-luck,thoughMrs.Lyndesaysthereisnosuchthing,becauseeverythingisforeordained.”
FortunatelythedyewashedoffeasilyandAnne,somewhatconsoled,betookherselftotheeastgablewhileDianaranhome.PresentlyAnnecamedownagain,clothedandinherrightmind.Themuslindressshehadfondlyhopedtowearwasbobbingmerrilyaboutonthelineoutside,soshewasforcedtocontentherselfwithherblacklawn.
