On the day after Thomas Lynde’s funeral Marilla went about Green Gables with a strangely preoccupied air. Occasionally she looked at Anne, seemed on the point of saying something, then shook her head and buttoned up her mouth. After tea she went down to see Mrs. Rachel; and when she returned she went to the east gable, where Anne was correcting school exercises.
“How is Mrs. Lynde to-night?” asked the latter.
“She’s feeling calmer and more composed,” answered Marilla, sitting down on Anne’s bed . . . a proceeding which betokened some unusual mental excitement, for in Marilla’s code of household ethics to sit on a bed after it was made up was an unpardonable offence. “But she’s very lonely. Eliza had to go home to-day . . . her son isn’t well and she felt she couldn’t stay any longer.”
“When I’ve finished these exercises I’ll run down and chat awhile with Mrs. Lynde,” said Anne. “I had intended to study some Latin composition to-night but it can wait.”
“I suppose Gilbert Blythe is going to college in the fall,” said Marilla jerkily. “How would you like to go too, Anne?”
Anne looked up in astonishment.
“I would like it, of course, Marilla. But it isn’t possible.”
“I guess it can be made possible. I’ve always felt that you should go. I’ve never felt easy to think you were giving it all up on my account.”
