Аня з Авонлеї
XXIX. Poetry and Prose
”
Therewasmoreromanceintheworldthanthatwhichhadfallentotheshareofthemiddle-agedloversofthestonehouse.AnnestumbledsuddenlyonitoneeveningwhenshewentovertoOrchardSlopebythewoodcutandcameoutintotheBarrygarden.DianaBarryandFredWrightwerestandingtogetherunderthebigwillow.Dianawasleaningagainstthegraytrunk,herlashescastdownonverycrimsoncheeks.OnehandwasheldbyFred,whostoodwithhisfacebenttowardher,stammeringsomethinginlowearnesttones.Therewerenootherpeopleintheworldexcepttheirtwoselvesatthatmagicmoment;soneitherofthemsawAnne,who,afteronedazedglanceofcomprehension,turnedandspednoiselesslybackthroughthesprucewood,neverstoppingtillshegainedherowngableroom,whereshesatbreathlesslydownbyherwindowandtriedtocollectherscatteredwits.
“DianaandFredareinlovewitheachother,”shegasped.“Oh,itdoesseemso...so...soHOPELESSLYgrownup.”
Anne,oflate,hadnotbeenwithouthersuspicionsthatDianawasprovingfalsetothemelancholyByronicheroofherearlydreams.Butas“thingsseenaremightierthanthingsheard,”orsuspected,therealizationthatitwasactuallysocametoherwithalmosttheshockofperfectsurprise.Thiswassucceededbyaqueer,littlelonelyfeeling...asif,somehow,Dianahadgoneforwardintoanewworld,shuttingagatebehindher,leavingAnneontheoutside.
“Thingsarechangingsofastitalmostfrightensme,”Annethought,alittlesadly.
