has been so full. I never was lonely for a moment. Before Owen came there used to be horrible moments—when I had been with you and Gilbert—and then had to leave you. You two would walk away together and I would walk away alone. After Owen came he was always there to walk home with me—we would laugh and talk as you and Gilbert were doing—there were no more lonely, envious moments for me. And now! Oh, yes, I’ve been a fool. Let’s have done talking about my folly. I’ll never bore you with it again.”
“Here is Gilbert, and you are coming back with us,” said Anne, who had no intention of leaving Leslie to wander alone on the sand-bar on such a night and in such a mood. “There’s plenty of room in our boat for three, and we’ll tie the flat on behind.”
“Oh, I suppose I must reconcile myself to being the odd one again,” said poor Leslie with another bitter laugh. “Forgive me, Anne—that was hateful. I ought to be thankful—and I am—that I have two good friends who are glad to count me in as a third. Don’t mind my hateful speeches. I just seem to be one great pain all over and everything hurts me.”
“Leslie seemed very quiet tonight, didn’t she?” said Gilbert, when he and Anne reached home. “What in the world was she doing over there on the bar alone?”
“Oh, she was tired—and you know she likes to go to the shore after one of Dick’s bad days.”
