selection. Anne, forgetting all about herself and her troubles for the
time, listened with rapt and shining eyes; but when the recitation ended
she suddenly put her hands over her face. She could never get up and
recite after that--never. Had she ever thought she could recite? Oh, if
she were only back at Green Gables!
At this unpropitious moment her name was called. Somehow Anne--who did
not notice the rather guilty little start of surprise the white-lace
girl gave, and would not have understood the subtle compliment implied
therein if she had--got on her feet, and moved dizzily out to the front.
She was so pale that Diana and Jane, down in the audience, clasped each
other s hands in nervous sympathy.
Anne was the victim of an overwhelming attack of stage fright. Often as
she had recited in public, she had never before faced such an audience
as this, and the sight of it paralyzed her energies completely.
Everything was so strange, so brilliant, so bewildering--the rows of
ladies in evening dress, the critical faces, the whole atmosphere of
wealth and culture about her. Very different this from the plain benches
at the Debating Club, filled with the homely, sympathetic faces of
friends and neighbors. These people, she thought, would be merciless
critics. Perhaps, like the white-lace girl, they anticipated amusement
from her rustic efforts. She felt hopelessly, helplessly ashamed and
miserable. Her knees trembled, her heart fluttered, a horrible faintness
came over her; not a word could she utter, and the next moment she would
have fled from the platform despite the humiliation which, she felt,
must ever after be her portion if she did so.
But suddenly, as her dilated, frightened eyes gazed out over the
audience, she saw Gilbert Blythe away at the back of the room, bending
forward with a smile on his face--a smile which seemed to Anne at once
triumphant and taunting. In reality it was nothing of the kind. Gilbert
was merely smiling with appreciation of the whole affair in general and
of the effect produced by Anne s slender white form and spiritual face
against a background of palms in particular. Josie Pye, whom he had
driven over, sat beside him, and her face certainly was both triumphant
and taunting. But Anne did not see Josie, and would not have cared if
she had. She drew a long breath and flung her head up proudly, courage
and determination tingling over her like an electric shock. She _would
not_ fail before Gilbert Blythe--he should never be able to laugh at her,
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