reply. “As for Leslie, she is absurd and I’m going up to tell her so.”
Anne found Leslie at the dormer window of her room. The little place was filled with the rhythmic thunder of the sea. Leslie sat with locked hands in the misty moonshine—a beautiful, accusing presence.
“Anne,” she said in a low, reproachful voice, “did you know Owen Ford was coming to Four Winds?”
“I did,” said Anne brazenly.
“Oh, you should have told me, Anne,” Leslie cried passionately. “If I had known I would have gone away—I wouldn’t have stayed here to meet him. You should have told me. It wasn’t fair of you, Anne—oh, it wasn’t fair!”
Leslie’s lips were trembling and her whole form was tense with emotion. But Anne laughed heartlessly. She bent over and kissed Leslie’s upturned reproachful face.
“Leslie, you are an adorable goose. Owen Ford didn’t rush from the Pacific to the Atlantic from a burning desire to see me. Neither do I believe that he was inspired by any wild and frenzied passion for Miss Cornelia. Take off your tragic airs, my dear friend, and fold them up and put them away in lavender. You’ll never need them again. There are some people who can see through a grindstone when there is a hole in it, even if you cannot. I am not a prophetess, but I shall venture on a prediction. The bitterness of life is over for you. After this you are
