Roy asked Anne to marry him in the little pavilion on the harbor shore where they had talked on the rainy day of their first meeting. Anne thought it very romantic that he should have chosen that spot. And his proposal was as beautifully worded as if he had copied it, as one of Ruby Gillis’ lovers had done, out of a Deportment of Courtship and Marriage. The whole effect was quite flawless. And it was also sincere. There was no doubt that Roy meant what he said. There was no false note to jar the symphony. Anne felt that she ought to be thrilling from head to foot. But she wasn’t; she was horribly cool. When Roy paused for his answer she opened her lips to say her fateful yes. And then — she found herself trembling as if she were reeling back from a precipice. To her came one of those moments when we realize, as by a blinding flash of illumination, more than all our previous years have taught us. She pulled her hand from Roy’s.
“Oh, I can’t marry you — I can’t — I can’t,” she cried, wildly.
Roy turned pale — and also looked rather foolish. He had — small blame to him — felt very sure.
“What do you mean?” he stammered.
“I mean that I can’t marry you,” repeated Anne desperately. “I thought I could — but I can’t.”
“Why can’t you?” Roy asked more calmly.
“Because — I don’t care enough for you.”
A crimson streak came into Roy’s face.
“So you’ve just been amusing yourself these two years?” he said slowly.
“No, no, I haven’t,” gasped poor Anne. Oh, how could she explain? She COULDN’T explain. There are some things that cannot be explained. “I did think I cared — truly I did — but I know now I don’t.”
“You have ruined my life,” said Roy bitterly.
“Forgive me,” pleaded Anne miserably, with hot cheeks and stinging eyes.
Roy turned away and stood for a few minutes looking out seaward. When he came back to Anne, he was very pale again.
“You can give me no hope?” he said.
Anne shook her head mutely.
“Then — goodbye,” said Roy. “I can’t understand it — I can’t believe you are not the woman I’ve believed you to be. But reproaches are idle between us. You are the only woman I can ever love. I thank you for your friendship, at least. Goodbye, Anne.”
“Goodbye,” faltered Anne. When Roy had gone she sat for a long time in the pavilion, watching a white mist creeping subtly and remorselessly landward up the harbor. It was her hour of humiliation and self-contempt and shame. Their waves went over her. And yet, underneath it all, was a queer sense of recovered freedom.
She slipped into Patty’s Place in the dusk and escaped to her room. But Phil was there on the window seat.
“Wait,” said Anne, flushing to anticipate the scene. “Wait til you hear what I have to say. Phil, Roy asked me to marry him-and I refused.”
“You — you REFUSED him?” said Phil blankly.
“Yes.”
“Anne Shirley, are you in your senses?”
“I think so,” said Anne wearily. “Oh, Phil, don’t scold me. You don’t understand.”
“I certainly don’t understand. You’ve encouraged Roy Gardner in every way for two years — and now you tell me you’ve refused him. Then you’ve just been flirting scandalously with him. Anne, I couldn’t have believed it of YOU.”
“I WASN’T flirting with him — I honestly thought I cared up to the last minute — and then — well, I just knew I NEVER could marry him.”
“I suppose,” said Phil cruelly, “that you intended to marry him for his money, and then your better self rose up and prevented you.”
“I DIDN’T. I never thought about his money. Oh, I can’t explain it to you any more than I could to him.”
“Well, I certainly think you have treated Roy shamefully,” said Phil in exasperation. “He’s handsome and clever and rich and good. What more do you want?”
“I want some one who BELONGS in my life. He doesn’t. I was swept off my feet at first by his good looks and knack of paying romantic compliments; and later on I thought I MUST be in love because he was my dark-eyed ideal.”
“I am bad enough for not knowing my own mind, but you are worse,” said Phil.
“I DO know my own mind,” protested Anne. “The trouble is, my mind changes and then I have to get acquainted with it all over again.”
“Well, I suppose there is no use in saying anything to you.”
“There is no need, Phil. I’m in the dust. This has spoiled everything backwards. I can never think of Redmond days without recalling the humiliation of this evening. Roy despises me — and you despise me — and I despise myself.”
“You poor darling,” said Phil, melting. “Just come here and let me comfort you. I’ve no right to scold you. I’d have married Alec or Alonzo if I hadn’t met Jo. Oh, Anne, things are so mixed-up in real life. They aren’t clear-cut and trimmed off, as they are in novels.”
“I hope that NO one will ever again ask me to marry him as long as I live,” sobbed poor Anne, devoutly believing that she meant it.
Chapter XXXIX.
Deals With Weddings
Anne felt that life partook of the nature of an anticlimax during the first few weeks after her return to Green Gables. She missed the merry comradeship of Patty’s Place. She had dreamed some brilliant dreams during the past winter and now they lay in the dust around her. In her present mood of self-disgust, she could not immediately begin dreaming again. And she discovered that, while solitude with dreams is glorious, solitude without them has few charms.
She had not seen Roy again after their painful parting in the park pavilion; but Dorothy came to see her before she left Kingsport.
“I’m awfully sorry you won’t marry Roy,” she said. “I did want you for a sister. But you are quite right. He would bore you to death. I love him, and he is a dear sweet boy, but really he isn’t a bit interesting. He looks as if he ought to be, but he isn’t.”
“This won’t spoil OUR friendship, will it, Dorothy?” Anne had asked wistfully.
“No, indeed. You’re too good to lose. If I can’t have you for a sister I mean to keep you as a chum anyway. And don’t fret over Roy. He is feeling terribly just now — I have to listen to his outpourings every day — but he’ll get over it. He always does.”
“Oh — ALWAYS?” said Anne with a slight change of voice. “So he has ‘got over it’ before?”
“Dear me, yes,” said Dorothy frankly. “Twice before. And he raved to me just the same both times. Not that the others actually refused him — they simply announced their engagements to some one else. Of course, when he met you he vowed to me that he had never really loved before — that the previous affairs had been merely boyish fancies. But I don’t think you need worry.”
Anne decided not to worry. Her feelings were a mixture of relief and resentment. Roy had certainly told her she was the only one he had ever loved. No doubt he believed it. But it was a comfort to feel that she had not, in all likelihood, ruined his life. There were other goddesses, and Roy, according to Dorothy, must needs be worshipping at some shrine. Nevertheless, life was stripped of several more illusions, and