“I have been married twelve years,” said Leslie.
Here was another unbelievable thing.
“Why, you can’t be as old as I am!” exclaimed Anne. “You must have been a child when you were married.”
“I was sixteen,” said Leslie, rising, and picking up the cap and jacket lying beside her. “I am twenty-eight now. Well, I must go back.”
“So must I. Gilbert will probably be home. But I’m so glad we both came to the shore tonight and met each other.”
Leslie said nothing, and Anne was a little chilled. She had offered friendship frankly but it had not been accepted very graciously, if it had not been absolutely repelled. In silence they climbed the cliffs and walked across a pasture-field of which the feathery, bleached, wild grasses were like a carpet of creamy velvet in the moonlight. When they reached the shore lane Leslie turned.
“I go this way, Mrs. Blythe. You will come over and see me some time, won’t you?”
Anne felt as if the invitation had been thrown at her. She got the impression that Leslie Moore gave it reluctantly.
“I will come if you really want me to,” she said a little coldly.
“Oh, I do — I do,” exclaimed Leslie, with an eagerness which seemed to burst forth and beat down some restraint that had been imposed on it.
“Then I’ll come. Goodnight — Leslie.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. Blythe.”
Anne walked home in a brown study and poured out her tale to Gilbert.
“So Mrs. Dick Moore isn’t one of the race that knows Joseph?” said Gilbert teasingly.
“No — o — o, not exactly. And yet — I think she WAS one of them once, but has gone or got into exile,” said Anne musingly. “She is certainly very different from the other women about here. You can’t talk about eggs and butter to HER. To think I’ve been imagining her a second Mrs. Rachel Lynde! Have you ever seen Dick Moore, Gilbert?”
“No. I’ve seen several men working about the fields of the farm, but I don’t know which was Moore.”
“She never mentioned him. I KNOW she isn’t happy.”
“From what you tell me I suppose she was married before she was old enough to know her own mind or heart, and found out too late that she had made a mistake. It’s a common tragedy enough, Anne.
“A fine woman would have made the best of it. Mrs. Moore has evidently let it make her bitter and resentful.”
“Don’t let us judge her till we know,” pleaded Anne. “I don’t believe her case is so ordinary. You will understand her fascination when you meet her, Gilbert. It is a thing quite apart from her beauty. I feel that she possesses a rich nature, into which a friend might enter as into a kingdom; but for some reason she bars every one out and shuts all her possibilities up in herself, so that they cannot develop and blossom. There, I’ve been struggling to define her to myself ever since I left her, and that is the nearest I can get to it. I’m going to ask Miss Cornelia about her.”
Chapter XI.
The Story of Leslie Moore
“Yes, the eighth baby arrived a fortnight ago,” said Miss Cornelia, from a rocker before the fire of the little house one chilly October afternoon. “It’s a girl. Fred was ranting mad — said he wanted a boy — when the truth is he didn’t want it at all. If it had been a boy he’d have ranted because it wasn’t a girl. They had four girls and three boys before, so I can’t see that it made much difference what this one was, but of course he’d have to be cantankerous, just like a man. The baby is real pretty, dressed up in its nice little clothes. It has black eyes and the dearest, tiny hands.”
“I must go and see it. I just love babies,” said Anne, smiling to herself over a thought too dear and sacred to be put into words.
“I don’t say but what they’re nice,” admitted Miss Cornelia. “But some folks seem to have more than they really need, believe ME. My poor cousin Flora up at the Glen had eleven, and such a slave as she is! Her husband suicided three years ago. Just like a man!”
“What made him do that?” asked Anne, rather shocked.
“Couldn’t get his way over something, so he jumped into the well. A good riddance! He was a born tyrant. But of course it spoiled the well. Flora could never abide the thought of using it again, poor thing! So she had another dug and a frightful expense it was, and the water as hard as nails. If he HAD to drown himself there was plenty of water in the harbor, wasn’t there? I’ve no patience with a man like that. We’ve only had two suicides in Four Winds in my recollection. The other was Frank West — Leslie Moore’s father. By the way, has Leslie ever been over to call on you yet?”
“No, but I met her on the shore a few nights ago and we scraped an acquaintance,” said Anne, pricking up her ears.
Miss Cornelia nodded.
“I’m glad, dearie. I was hoping you’d foregather with her. What do you think of her?”
“I thought her very beautiful.”
“Oh, of course. There was never anybody about Four Winds could touch her for looks. Did you ever see her hair? It reaches to her feet when she lets it down. But I meant how did you like her?”
“I think I could like her very much if she’d let me,” said Anne slowly.
“But she wouldn’t let you — she pushed you off and kept you at arm’s length. Poor Leslie! You wouldn’t be much surprised if you knew what her life has been. It’s been a tragedy — a tragedy!” repeated Miss Cornelia emphatically.
“I wish you would tell me all about her — that is, if you can do so without betraying any confidence.”
“Lord, dearie, everybody in Four Winds knows poor Leslie’s story. It’s no secret — the OUTSIDE, that is. Nobody knows the INSIDE but Leslie herself, and she doesn’t take folks into her confidence. I’m about the best friend she has on earth, I reckon, and she’s never uttered a word of complaint to me. Have you ever seen Dick Moore?”
“No.”
“Well, I may as well begin at the beginning and tell you everything straight through, so you’ll understand it. As I said, Leslie’s father was Frank West. He was clever and shiftless — just like a man. Oh, he had heaps of brains — and much good they did him! He started to go to college, and he went for two years, and then his health broke down. The Wests were all inclined to be consumptive. So Frank came home and started farming. He married Rose Elliott from over harbor. Rose was reckoned the beauty of Four Winds — Leslie takes her looks from her mother, but she has ten times the spirit and go that Rose had, and a far better figure. Now you know, Anne, I always take the ground that us women ought to stand by each other. We’ve got enough to endure at the hands of the men, the Lord knows, so I hold we hadn’t ought to clapper-claw one another, and it isn’t often you’ll find me running down another woman. But I never had much use for Rose Elliott. She was spoiled to begin with, believe ME, and she was nothing but a lazy, selfish, whining creature. Frank was no hand to work, so they were poor as Job’s turkey. Poor! They lived on potatoes and point, believe ME. They had two children — Leslie and Kenneth. Leslie had her mother’s looks and her father’s brains, and something she didn’t get from either of them. She took after her Grandmother West —