Alden sat on the verandah step with his bare head thrown back against the post. He was, as Anne always thought, a very handsome fellow ... tall and broad-shouldered, with a marble-white face that never tanned, vivid blue eyes, and a stiff, upstanding brush of inky black hair. He had a laughing voice and a nice, deferential way which women of all ages liked. He had gone to Queen's for three years and had thought of going to Redmond, but his mother refused to let him go, alleging Biblical reasons, and Alden had settled down contentedly enough on the farm. He liked farming, he had told Anne; it was free, out-of-doors, independent work: he had his mother's knack of making money and his father's attractive personality. It was no wonder he was considered something of a matrimonial prize.
"Alden, I want to ask a favour of you," said Anne winningly. "Will you do it for me?”
"Sure, Mrs. Blythe," he answered heartily. "Just name it. You know I'd do anything for you.”
Alden was really very fond of Mrs. Blythe and would really have done a good deal for her.
"I'm afraid it will bore you," said Anne anxiously. "But it's just this ... I want you to see that Stella Chase has a good time at my party tomorrow night. I'm so afraid she won't. She doesn't know many young people around here yet ... most of them are younger than she is ... at least the boys are. Ask her to dance and see that she isn't left alone and out of things. She's so shy with strangers. I do want her to have a good time.”
"Oh, I'll do my best," said Alden readily.
"But you mustn't fall in love with her, you know," warned Anne, laughing carefully.
"Have a heart, Mrs. Blythe. Why not?”
"Well," confidentially, "I think Mr. Paxton of Lowbridge has taken quite a fancy to her.”
"That conceited young coxcomb?" exploded Alden, with unexpected warmth.
Anne looked mild rebuke.
"Why, Alden, I'm told he is a very nice young man. It's only that kind of a man who would have any chance with Stella's father, you know.”
"That so?" said Alden, relapsing into his indifference.
"Yes ... and I don't know if even he would. I understand Mr.
Chase thinks there is nobody good enough for Stella. I'm afraid a plain farmer wouldn't have a look-in. So I don't want you to make trouble for yourself falling in love with a girl you could never get. I'm just dropping a friendly warning. I'm sure your mother would think as I do.”
"Oh, thanks ... What sort of a girl is she, anyhow. Looks good?”
"Well, I admit she isn't a beauty. I like Stella very much ... but she's a little pale and retiring. Not overly strong ... but I'm told Mr. Paxton has money of his own. To my thinking it should be an ideal match and I don't want anyone to spoil it.”
"Why didn't you invite Mr. Paxton to your spree and tell HIM to give your Stella a good time?" demanded Alden rather truculently.
"You know a minister wouldn't come to a dance, Alden. Now, don't be cranky ... and do see that Stella has a nice time.”
"Oh, I'll see that she has a rip-roaring time. Good-night, Mrs.
Blythe.”
Alden swung off abruptly. Left alone, Anne laughed. "Now, if I know anything of human nature that boy will sail right in to show the world he can get Stella if he wants her in spite of anybody.
He rose right to my bait about the minister. But I suppose I'm in for a bad night with this headache.”
She had a bad night, complicated by what Susan called "a crick in the neck," and felt about as brilliant as grey flannel in the morning; but in the evening she was a gay and gallant hostess. The party was a success. Everybody seemed to have a good time. Stella certainly had. Alden saw to that almost too zealously for good form, Anne thought. It was going a bit strong for a first meeting that Alden should whisk Stella off to a dim corner of the verandah after supper and keep her there for an hour. But on the whole Anne was satisfied when she thought things over the next morning. To be sure, the dining-room carpet has been practically ruined by two spilled saucerfuls of ice-cream and a plateful of cake being ground into it; Gilbert's grandmother's Bristol glass candlesticks had been smashed to smithereens; somebody had upset a pitcherful of rainwater in the spare room which had soaked down and discoloured the library ceiling in a tragic fashion; the tassels were half torn off the chesterfield; Susan's big Boston fern, the pride of her heart, had apparently been sat upon by some large and heavy person.
But on the credit side of the ledger was the fact that, unless all signs failed, Alden had fallen for Stella. Anne thought the balance was in her favour.
Local gossip within the next few weeks confirmed this view. It became increasingly evident that Alden was hooked. But what about Stella? Anne did not think Stella was the sort of girl to fall too ripely into any man's outstretched hand. She had a spice of her father's "contrariness," which in her worked out as a charming independence.
Again luck befriended a worried matchmaker. Stella came to see the Ingleside delphiniums one evening and afterwards they sat on the verandah and talked. Stella Chase was a pale, slender thing, rather shy but intensely sweet. She had a soft cloud of pale gold hair and wood-brown eyes. Anne thought it was her eyelashes did the trick, for she was not really pretty. They were unbelievably long and when she lifted them and dropped them it did things to masculine hearts. She had a certain distinction of manner which made her seem a little older than her twenty-four years and a nose that might be decidedly aquiline in later life.
"I've been hearing things about you, Stella," said Anne, shaking a finger at her. "And ... I ... don't ... know ... if ... I ... liked ... them. Will you forgive me for saying that I wonder if Alden Churchill is just the right beau for you?”
Stella turned a startled face.
"Why ... I thought you liked Alden, Mrs. Blythe.”
"I do like him. But ... well, you see ... he has the reputation of being very fickle. I'm told no girl can hold him long. A good many have tried ... and failed. I'd hate to see you left like that if his fancy veered.”
"I think you are mistaken about Alden, Mrs. Blythe," said Stella slowly.
"I hope so, Stella. If you were a different type now ... bouncing and jolly, like Eileen Swift ...”
"Oh, well ... I must be going home," said Stella vaguely.
"Father will be lonely.”
When she had gone Anne laughed again.
"I rather think Stella has gone away secretly vowing that she will show meddlesome friends that she can hold Alden and that no Eileen Swift shall ever get her claws on him. That little toss of her head and that sudden flush on her cheeks told me that. So much for the young folks. I'm afraid the older ones will be tougher nuts to crack.”
Chapter 17
Anne's luck held. The Women's Missionary Auxiliary asked her if she would call on Mrs. George Churchill for her yearly contribution to the society. Mrs. Churchill seldom went to church and was not a member of the Auxiliary, but she "believed in missions" and always gave a generous sum if anyone called and asked her for it. People enjoyed doing this so little that the members had to take their turn at it and this year the turn was Anne's.
She walked down one evening, taking a daisied trail across lots which led over the sweet, cool loveliness of a hill-top to the road where the Churchill farm lay, a mile from the Glen. It was rather a dull road, with grey snake fences running up steep little slopes ... yet it had homelights ... a brook ... the smell of hayfields that run down to the sea ... gardens. Anne stopped to look at every garden she passed. Her interest in gardens was perennial. Gilbert was wont to say that Anne HAD to buy a book if the word "garden" were in the title.
A lazy boat idled down the harbour and far out a vessel was becalmed. Anne always watched an outward bound ship with a little quickening of her pulses. She understood Captain Franklin Drew when she heard him say once, as he went on board his vessel at the wharf, "God, how sorry I am for the folks we leave on shore!”