ANNE’S APOLOGY
ness, too. I felt so ashamed of myself. But I just couldn’t think of going and telling Mrs. Lynde so. It would be so humiliating. I made up my mind I’d stay shut up here for ever rather than do that. But still—I’d do anything for you—if you really want me to—”
“Well now, of course I do. It’s terrible lonesome down-stairs without you. Just go and smooth it over—that’s a good girl.”
“Very well,” said Anne resignedly. “I’ll tell Marilla as soon as she comes in that I’ve repented.”
“That’s right—that’s right, Anne. But don’t tell Marilla I said anything about it. She might think I was putting my oar in and I promised not to do that.”
“Wild horses won’t drag the secret from me,” promised Anne solemnly. “How would wild horses drag a secret from a person anyhow?”
But Matthew was gone, scared at his own success. He fled hastily to the remotest corner of the horse pasture lest Marilla should suspect what he had been up to. Marilla herself, upon her return to the house, was agreeably surprised to hear a plaintive voice calling, “Marilla,” over the banisters.
“Well?” she said, going into the hall.
“I’m sorry I lost my temper and said rude things, and I’m willing to go and tell Mrs. Lynde so.”
“Very well.” Marilla’s crispness gave no sign of her relief. She had been wondering what under the
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