“Now, Leslie, that IS bitter and morbid—put such thoughts away.
I was so glad when you brought the little dress; and since I had to lose little Joyce I like to think that the dress she wore was the one you made for her when you let yourself love me.”
“Anne, do you know, I believe I shall always love you after this. I don’t think I’ll ever feel that dreadful way about you again. Talking it all out seems to have done away with it, somehow. It’s very strange—and I thought it so real and bitter. It’s like opening the door of a dark room to show some hideous creature you’ve believed to be there—and when the light streams in your monster turns out to have been just a shadow, vanishing when the light comes. It will never come between us again.”
“No, we are real friends now, Leslie, and I am very glad.”
“I hope you won’t misunderstand me if I say something else. Anne, I was grieved to the core of my heart when you lost your baby; and if I could have saved her for you by cutting off one of my hands I would have done it. But your sorrow has brought us closer together. Your perfect happiness isn’t a barrier any longer. Oh, don’t misunderstand, dearest—I’m not glad that your happiness isn’t perfect any longer—I can say that sincerely; but since it isn’t, there isn’t such a gulf between us.”
“I do understand that, too, Leslie. Now, we’ll just shut up the past and forget what was unpleasant in it.
