Pendexter didn’t need to talk; it was enough for her just to look.
After dinner they all had a walk through Lover’s Lane and Violet Vale and the Birch Path, then back through the Haunted Wood to the Dryad’s Bubble, where they sat down and talked for a delightful last half hour. Mrs. Morgan wanted to know how the Haunted Wood came by its name, and laughed until she cried when she heard the story and Anne’s dramatic account of a certain memorable walk through it at the witching hour of twilight.
“It has indeed been a feast of reason and flow of soul, hasn’t it?” said Anne, when her guests had gone and she and Diana were alone again. “I don’t know which I enjoyed more . . . listening to Mrs. Morgan or gazing at Mrs. Pendexter. I believe we had a nicer time than if we’d known they were coming and been cumbered with much serving. You must stay to tea with me, Diana, and we’ll talk it all over.”
“Priscilla says Mrs. Pendexter’s husband’s sister is married to an English earl; and yet she took a second helping of the plum preserves,” said Diana, as if the two facts were somehow incompatible.
“I daresay even the English earl himself wouldn’t have turned up his aristocratic nose at Marilla’s plum preserves,” said Anne proudly.
Anne did not mention the misfortune which had befallen her nose when she related the day’s history to Marilla that evening. But she took the bottle of freckle lotion and emptied it out of the window.
