Chapter VIII
Anne's First Proposal
The old year did not slip away in a green twilight, with a pinky-yellowsunset. Instead, it went out with a wild, white bluster and blow. It wasone of the nights when the storm-wind hurtles over the frozen meadowsand black hollows, and moans around the eaves like a lost creature, anddrives the snow sharply against the shaking panes.
"Just the sort of night people like to cuddle down between theirblankets and count their mercies," said Anne to Jane Andrews, who hadcome up to spend the afternoon and stay all night. But when they werecuddled between their blankets, in Anne's little porch room, it was nother mercies of which Jane was thinking.
"Anne," she said very solemnly, "I want to tell you something. May I"
Anne was feeling rather sleepy after the party Ruby Gillis had given thenight before. She would much rather have gone to sleep than listento Jane's confidences, which she was sure would bore her. She had noprophetic inkling of what was coming. Probably Jane was engaged,too; rumor averred that Ruby Gillis was engaged to the Spencervaleschoolteacher, about whom all the girls were said to be quite wild.
"I'll soon be the only fancy-free maiden of our old quartet," thoughtAnne, drowsily. Aloud she said, "Of course."
"Anne," said Jane, still more solemnly, "what do you think of my brotherBilly?"
Anne gasped over this unexpected question, and floundered helplesslyin her thoughts. Goodness, what DID she think of Billy Andrews? Shehad never thought ANYTHING about him--round-faced, stupid, perpetuallysmiling, good-natured Billy Andrews. Did ANYBODY ever think about BillyAndrews?
"I--I don't understand, Jane," she stammered. "What do youmean--exactly?"
"Do you like Billy?" asked Jane bluntly.
"Why--why--yes, I like him, of course," gasped Anne, wondering if shewere telling the literal truth. Certainly she did not DISlike Billy.But could the indifferent tolerance with which she regarded him, when hehappened to be in her range of vision, be considered positive enough forliking? WHAT was Jane trying to elucidate?
"Would you like him for a husband?" asked Jane calmly.
"A husband!" Anne had been sitting up in bed, the better to wrestle withthe problem of her exact opinion of Billy Andrews. Now she fell flatlyback on her pillows, the very breath gone out of her. "Whose husband?"
"Yours, of course," answered Jane. "Billy wants to marry you. He'salways been crazy about you--and now father has given him the upper farmin his own name and there's nothing to prevent him from getting married.But he's so shy he couldn't ask you himself if you'd have him, so he gotme to do it. I'd rather not have, but he gave me no peace till I said Iwould, if I got a good chance. What do you think about it, Anne?"
Was it a dream? Was it one of those nightmare things in which you findyourself engaged or married to some one you hate or don't know, withoutthe slightest idea how it ever came about? No, she, Anne Shirley, waslying there, wide awake, in her own bed, and Jane Andrews was besideher, calmly proposing for her brother Billy. Anne did not know whethershe wanted to writhe or laugh; but she could do neither, for Jane'sfeelings must not be hurt.
"I--I couldn't marry Bill, you know, Jane," she managed to gasp. "Why,such an idea never occurred to me--never!"
"I don't suppose it did," agreed Jane. "Billy has always been far tooshy to think of courting. But you might think it over, Anne. Billy is agood fellow. I must say that, if he is my brother. He has no bad habitsand he's a great worker, and you can depend on him. 'A bird in the handis worth two in the bush.' He told me to tell you he'd be quite willingto wait till you got through college, if you insisted, though he'dRATHER get married this spring before the planting begins. He'd alwaysbe very good to you, I'm sure, and you know, Anne, I'd love to have youfor a sister."
"I can't marry Billy," said Anne decidedly. She had recovered her wits,and was even feeling a little angry. It was all so ridiculous. "There isno use thinking of it, Jane. I don't care anything for him in that way,and you must tell him so."
"Well, I didn't suppose you would," said Jane with a resigned sigh,feeling that she had done her best. "I told Billy I didn't believe itwas a bit of use to ask you, but he insisted. Well, you've made yourdecision, Anne, and I hope you won't regret it."
Jane spoke rather coldly. She had been perfectly sure that the enamoredBilly had no chance at all of inducing Anne to marry him. Nevertheless,she felt a little resentment that Anne Shirley, who was, after all,merely an adopted orphan, without kith or kin, should refuse herbrother--one of the Avonlea Andrews. Well, pride sometimes goes before afall, Jane reflected ominously.
Anne permitted herself to smile in the darkness over the idea that shemight ever regret not marrying Billy Andrews.
"I hope Billy won't feel very badly over it," she said nicely.
Jane made a movement as if she were tossing her head on her pillow.
"Oh, he won't break his heart. Billy has too much good sense for that.He likes Nettie Blewett pretty well, too, and mother would rather hemarried her than any one. She's such a good manager and saver. I think,when Billy is once sure you won't have him, he'll take Nettie. Pleasedon't mention this to any one, will you, Anne?"
"Certainly not," said Anne, who had no desire whatever to publish abroadthe fact that Billy Andrews wanted to marry her, preferring her, whenall was said and done, to Nettie Blewett. Nettie Blewett!
"And now I suppose we'd better go to sleep," suggested Jane.
To sleep went Jane easily and speedily; but, though very unlike MacBethin most respects, she had certainly contrived to murder sleep for Anne.That proposed-to damsel lay on a wakeful pillow until the wee sma's, buther meditations were far from being romantic. It was not, however, untilthe next morning that she had an opportunity to indulge in a good laughover the whole affair. When Jane had gone home--still with a hint offrost in voice and manner because Anne had declined so ungratefullyand decidedly the honor of an alliance with the House of Andrews--Anneretreated to the porch room, shut the door, and had her laugh out atlast.
"If I could only share the joke with some one!" she thought. "But Ican't. Diana is the only one I'd want to tell, and, even if I hadn'tsworn secrecy to Jane, I can't tell Diana things now. She tellseverything to Fred--I know she does. Well, I've had my first proposal. Isupposed it would come some day--but I certainly never thought it wouldbe by proxy. It's awfully funny--and yet there's a sting in it, too,somehow."
Anne knew quite well wherein the sting consisted, though she did not putit into words. She had had her secret dreams of the first time some oneshould ask her the great question. And it had, in those dreams, alwaysbeen very romantic and beautiful: and the "some one" was to be veryhandsome and dark-eyed and distinguished-looking and eloquent, whetherhe were Prince Charming to be enraptured with "yes," or one to whom aregretful, beautifully worded, but hopeless refusal must be given. Ifthe latter, the refusal was to be expressed so delicately that it wouldbe next best thing to acceptance, and he would go away, after kissingher hand, assuring her of his unalterable, life-long devotion. And itwould always be a beautiful memory, to be proud of and a little sadabout, also.
And now, this thrilling experience had turned out to be merelygrotesque. Billy Andrews had got his sister to propose for him becausehis father had given him the upper farm; and if Anne wouldn't "have him"Nettie Blewett would. There was romance for you, with a vengeance! Annelaughed--and then sighed. The bloom had been brushed from one littlemaiden dream. Would the painful process go on until everything becameprosaic and hum-drum?
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