of pain as she looked at her. How like the girl was to — to — to the Spencers! Those easy, curving outlines, those large, mirthful blue eyes, that finely molded chin! Isabella Spencer shut her lips firmly, and crushed down some unbidden, unwelcome memories.
“There will be about sixty guests, all told,” she said, as if she were thinking of nothing else. “We must move the furniture all out of this room and set the supper-table here. The dining-room is too small. We must borrow Mrs. Bell’s forks and spoons. She offered to lend them. I'd never have been willing to ask her. The damask table cloths with the ribbon pattern must be bleached to-morrow. Nobody else in Avonlea has such tablecloths. And we'll put the little dining-room table on the hall landing, upstairs, for the presents.”
Rachel was not thinking about the presents, or the housewifely details of the wedding. Her breath was coming quicker, and the faint blush on her smooth cheeks had deepened to crimson. She knew that a critical moment was approaching. With a steady hand she wrote the last name on her list and drew a line under it.
“Well, have you finished?” asked her mother impatiently. “Hand it here and let me look over it to make sure that you haven't left anybody out that should be in.”
