“No. I don’t think I’ve ever been really lonely in my life,” answered Anne. “Even when I’m alone I have real good company—dreams and imaginations and pretendings. I like to be alone now and then, just to think over things and taste them. But I love friendship—and nice, jolly little times with people. Oh, won’t you come to see me—often? Please do. I believe,” Anne added, laughing, “that you’d like me if you knew me.”
“I wonder if you would like me,“ said Leslie seriously. She was not fishing for a compliment. She looked out across the waves that were beginning to be garlanded with blossoms of moonlit foam, and her eyes filled with shadows.
“I’m sure I would,” said Anne. “And please don’t think I’m utterly irresponsible because you saw me dancing on the shore at sunset. No doubt I shall be dignified after a time. You see, I haven’t been married very long. I feel like a girl, and sometimes like a child, yet.”
“I have been married twelve years,” said Leslie.
Here was another unbelievable thing.
“Why, you can’t be as old as I am!” exclaimed Anne. “You must have been a child when you were married.”
“I was sixteen,” said Leslie, rising, and picking up the cap and jacket lying beside her. “I am twenty-eight now. Well, I must go back.”
“So must I. Gilbert will probably be home. But I’m
