I don’t—I didn’t want him to care—but he might have been a little kinder.”
“Oh, I wish Gilbert would come,” thought Anne. She was racked between her sympathy for Leslie and the necessity of avoiding anything that would betray Owen’s confidence. She knew why his good-bye had been so cold—why it could not have the cordiality that their good-comradeship demanded—but she could not tell Leslie.
“I couldn’t help it, Anne—I couldn’t help it,” said poor Leslie.
“I know that.”
“Do you blame me so very much?”
“I don’t blame you at all.”
“And you won’t—you won’t tell Gilbert?”
“Leslie! Do you think I would do such a thing?”
“Oh, I don’t know—you and Gilbert are such chums. I don’t see how you could help telling him everything.”
“Everything about my own concerns—yes. But not my friends’ secrets.”
“I couldn’t have him know. But I’m glad you know. I would feel guilty if there were anything I was ashamed to tell you. I hope Miss Cornelia won’t find out. Sometimes I feel as if those terrible, kind brown eyes of hers read my very soul. Oh, I wish this mist would never lift—I wish I could just stay in it forever, hidden away from every living being. I don’t see how I can go on with life. This summer
