Аня з Авонлеї
XXVII. An Afternoon at the Stone House
“ButI’dratherlooklikeyouthanbepretty,”shetoldAnnesincerely.
Annelaughed,sippedthehoneyfromthetribute,andcastawaythesting.Shewasusedtotakinghercomplimentsmixed.PublicopinionneveragreedonAnne’slooks.Peoplewhohadheardhercalledhandsomemetherandweredisappointed.Peoplewhohadheardhercalledplainsawherandwonderedwhereotherpeople’seyeswere.Anneherselfwouldneverbelievethatshehadanyclaimtobeauty.Whenshelookedintheglassallshesawwasalittlepalefacewithsevenfrecklesonthenosethereof.Hermirrorneverrevealedtohertheelusive,ever-varyingplayoffeelingthatcameandwentoverherfeatureslikearosyilluminatingflame,orthecharmofdreamandlaughteralternatinginherbigeyes.
WhileAnnewasnotbeautifulinanystrictlydefinedsenseofthewordshepossessedacertainevasivecharmanddistinctionofappearancethatleftbeholderswithapleasurablesenseofsatisfactioninthatsoftlyroundedgirlhoodofhers,withallitsstronglyfeltpotentialities.ThosewhoknewAnnebestfelt,withoutrealizingthattheyfeltit,thathergreatestattractionwastheauraofpossibilitysurroundingher...thepoweroffuturedevelopmentthatwasinher.Sheseemedtowalkinanatmosphereofthingsabouttohappen.
Astheypicked,CharlottatheFourthconfidedtoAnneherfearsregardingMissLavendar.Thewarm-heartedlittlehandmaidenwashonestlyworriedoverheradoredmistress’condition.
“MissLavendarisn’twell,MissShirley,ma’am.I’msuresheisn’t,thoughshenevercomplains.
