Marilla whisked into the kitchen, grievously disturbed, leaving a very
much distracted little soul in the porch behind her. Presently Anne
stepped out bareheaded into the chill autumn dusk; very determinedly and
steadily she took her way down through the sere clover field over the
log bridge and up through the spruce grove, lighted by a pale little
moon hanging low over the western woods. Mrs. Barry, coming to the door
in answer to a timid knock, found a white-lipped eager-eyed suppliant on
the doorstep.
Her face hardened. Mrs. Barry was a woman of strong prejudices and
dislikes, and her anger was of the cold, sullen sort which is always
hardest to overcome. To do her justice, she really believed Anne had
made Diana drunk out of sheer malice prepense, and she was honestly
anxious to preserve her little daughter from the contamination of
further intimacy with such a child.
What do you want? she said stiffly.
Anne clasped her hands.
Oh, Mrs. Barry, please forgive me. I did not mean to--to--intoxicate
Diana. How could I? Just imagine if you were a poor little orphan girl
that kind people had adopted and you had just one bosom friend in all
the world. Do you think you would intoxicate her on purpose? I thought
it was only raspberry cordial. I was firmly convinced it was raspberry
cordial. Oh, please don t say that you won t let Diana play with me any
more. If you do you will cover my life with a dark cloud of woe.
This speech which would have softened good Mrs. Lynde s heart in a
twinkling, had no effect on Mrs. Barry except to irritate her still
more. She was suspicious of Anne s big words and dramatic gestures and
imagined that the child was making fun of her. So she said, coldly and
cruelly:
I don t think you are a fit little girl for Diana to associate with.
You d better go home and behave yourself.
Anne s lips quivered.
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