“No, it was the night Gilbert and I came home. You were driving your geese down the hill. I should think I do remember it! I thought you were so beautiful—I longed for weeks after to find out who you were.”
“I knew who you were, although I had never seen either of you before. I had heard of the new doctor and his bride who were coming to live in Miss Russell’s little house. I—I hated you that very moment, Anne.”
“I felt the resentment in your eyes—then I doubted—I thought I must be mistaken—because why should it be?”
“It was because you looked so happy. Oh, you’ll agree with me now that I am a hateful beast—to hate another woman just because she was happy,—and when her happiness didn’t take anything from me! That was why I never went to see you. I knew quite well I ought to go—even our simple Four Winds customs demanded that. But I couldn’t. I used to watch you from my window—I could see you and your husband strolling about your garden in the evening—or you running down the poplar lane to meet him. And it hurt me. And yet in another way I wanted to go over. I felt that, if I were not so miserable, I could have liked you and found in you what I’ve never had in my life—an intimate, real friend of my own age. And then you remember that
