“Oh!” said Priscilla vaguely.
“Yes. But it’s such hard work to use them. And B.A.’s are such learned, dignified, wise, solemn creatures — they must be. No, I didn’t want to come to Redmond. I did it just to oblige father. He IS such a duck. Besides, I knew if I stayed home I’d have to get married. Mother wanted that — wanted it decidedly. Mother has plenty of decision. But I really hated the thought of being married for a few years yet. I want to have heaps of fun before I settle down. And, ridiculous as the idea of my being a B.A. is, the idea of my being an old married woman is still more absurd, isn’t it? I’m only eighteen. No, I concluded I would rather come to Redmond than be married. Besides, how could I ever have made up my mind which man to marry?”
“Were there so many?” laughed Anne.
“Heaps. The boys like me awfully — they really do. But there were only two that mattered. The rest were all too young and too poor. I must marry a rich man, you know.”
“Why must you?”
“Honey, you couldn’t imagine ME being a poor man’s wife, could you? I can’t do a single useful thing, and I am VERY extravagant. Oh, no, my husband must have heaps of money. So that narrowed them down to two. But I couldn’t decide between two any easier than between two hundred. I knew perfectly well that whichever one I chose I’d regret all my life that I hadn’t married the other.”
“Didn’t you — love — either of them?” asked Anne, a little hesitatingly. It was not easy for her to speak to a stranger of the great mystery and transformation of life.
“Goodness, no. I couldn’t love anybody. It isn’t in me. Besides I wouldn’t want to. Being in love makes you a perfect slave, I think. And it would give a man such power to hurt you. I’d be afraid. No, no, Alec and Alonzo are two dear boys, and I like them both so much that I really don’t know which I like the better. That is the trouble. Alec is the best looking, of course, and I simply couldn’t marry a man who wasn’t handsome. He is good-tempered too, and has lovely, curly, black hair. He’s rather too perfect — I don’t believe I’d like a perfect husband — somebody I could never find fault with.”
“Then why not marry Alonzo?” asked Priscilla gravely.
“Think of marrying a name like Alonzo!” said Phil dolefully. “I don’t believe I could endure it. But he has a classic nose, and it WOULD be a comfort to have a nose in the family that could be depended on. I can’t depend on mine. So far, it takes after the Gordon pattern, but I’m so afraid it will develop Byrne tendencies as I grow older. I examine it every day anxiously to make sure it’s still Gordon. Mother was a Byrne and has the Byrne nose in the Byrnest degree. Wait till you see it. I adore nice noses. Your nose is awfully nice, Anne Shirley. Alonzo’s nose nearly turned the balance in his favor. But ALONZO! No, I couldn’t decide. If I could have done as I did with the hats — stood them both up together, shut my eyes, and jabbed with a hatpin — it would have been quite easy.”
“What did Alec and Alonzo feel like when you came away?” queried Priscilla.
“Oh, they still have hope. I told them they’d have to wait till I could make up my mind. They’re quite willing to wait. They both worship me, you know. Meanwhile, I intend to have a good time. I expect I shall have heaps of beaux at Redmond. I can’t be happy unless I have, you know. But don’t you think the freshmen are fearfully homely? I saw only one really handsome fellow among them. He went away before you came. I heard his chum call him Gilbert. His chum had eyes that stuck out THAT FAR. But you’re not going yet, girls? Don’t go yet.”
“I think we must,” said Anne, rather coldly. “It’s getting late, and I’ve some work to do.”
“But you’ll both come to see me, won’t you?” asked Philippa, getting up and putting an arm around each. “And let me come to see you. I want to be chummy with you. I’ve taken such a fancy to you both. And I haven’t quite disgusted you with my frivolity, have I?”
“Not quite,” laughed Anne, responding to Phil’s squeeze, with a return of cordiality.
“Because I’m not half so silly as I seem on the surface, you know. You just accept Philippa Gordon, as the Lord made her, with all her faults, and I believe you’ll come to like her. Isn’t this graveyard a sweet place? I’d love to be buried here. Here’s a grave I didn’t see before — this one in the iron railing — oh, girls, look, see — the stone says it’s the grave of a middy who was killed in the fight between the Shannon and the Chesapeake. Just fancy!”
Anne paused by the railing and looked at the worn stone, her pulses thrilling with sudden excitement. The old graveyard, with its overarching trees and long aisles of shadows, faded from her sight. Instead, she saw the Kingsport Harbor of nearly a century agone. Out of the mist came slowly a great frigate, brilliant with “the meteor flag of England.” Behind her was another, with a still, heroic form, wrapped in his own starry flag, lying on the quarter deck — the gallant Lawrence. Time’s finger had turned back his pages, and that was the Shannon sailing triumphant up the bay with the Chesapeake as her prize.
“Come back, Anne Shirley — come back,” laughed Philippa, pulling her arm. “You’re a hundred years away from us. Come back.”
Anne came back with a sigh; her eyes were shining softly.
“I’ve always loved that old story,” she said, “and although the English won that victory, I think it was because of the brave, defeated commander I love it. This grave seems to bring it so near and make it so real. This poor little middy was only eighteen. He ‘died of desperate wounds received in gallant action’ — so reads his epitaph. It is such as a soldier might wish for.”
Before she turned away, Anne unpinned the little cluster of purple pansies she wore and dropped it softly on the grave of the boy who had perished in the great sea-duel.
“Well, what do you think of our new friend?” asked Priscilla, when Phil had left them.
“I like her. There is something very lovable about her, in spite of all her nonsense. I believe, as she says herself, that she isn’t half as silly as she sounds. She’s a dear, kissable baby — and I don’t know that she’ll ever really grow up.”
“I like her, too,” said Priscilla, decidedly. “She talks as much about boys as Ruby Gillis does. But it always enrages or sickens me to hear Ruby, whereas I just wanted to laugh goodnaturedly at Phil. Now, what is the why of that?”
“There is a difference,” said Anne meditatively. “I think it’s because Ruby is really so CONSCIOUS of boys. She plays at love and lovemaking. Besides, you feel, when she is boasting of her beaux that she is doing it to rub it well into you that you haven’t half so many. Now, when Phil talks of her beaux it sounds as if she was just speaking of chums. She really looks upon boys as good comrades, and she is pleased when she has dozens of them tagging round, simply because she likes to be popular and to be thought popular. Even Alex and Alonzo — I’ll never be able to think of those two names separately after this — are to her just two playfellows who want her to play with them all their lives. I’m glad we met her, and I’m glad we went to Old St. John’s. I believe I’ve put forth a tiny soul-root into Kingsport soil this afternoon. I hope so. I hate to feel transplanted.”
Chapter V.
Letters From Home
For the next three weeks Anne and Priscilla continued to feel as strangers in a strange land. Then, suddenly, everything seemed to fall into focus — Redmond, professors, classes, students, studies, social doings. Life became homogeneous again, instead of being made up of detached fragments. The Freshmen, instead of being a collection of unrelated