r even the knowledge of self-analysis,
she was more uncomfortable than pleased, after all, and inclined
mentally to run away. She did not know herself whether she had more
imagination than timidity, whether conscientiousness was more developed
in her than ideality, or whether, if obliged to choose between saving
the life of a brother or a husband, she would choose the former or the
latter. Dexter had to drag her opinions of her own character from her
almost by main strength. But he persisted. He had never known an
imaginative young girl at the age when all things are problems to her
who was not secretly, often openly, fascinated by a sympathetic research
into her own timid little characteristics, opening like buds within her
one by one. Dexter's theory was correct, his rule a good one probably in
ninety-nine cases out of a hundred; only--Anne was the hundredth. She
began to be afraid of him as he came toward her, kind, smiling, with his
invisible air of success about him, ready for one of their long
conversations. Yet certainly he was as pleasant a companion as a
somewhat lonely young girl, isolated at a place like Caryl's, could
wish for; at least that is what every one would have said.

During these weeks there had been no long talks with Heathcote. Miss
Vanhorn did not ask him to accompany them to the woods; she did not
utter to him the initiative word in passing which gives the opportunity.
Still, there had been chance meetings and chance words, of
course--five-minute strolls on the piazza, five-minute looks at the
sunset or at the stars, in the pauses between the dances. But where
Heathcote took a minute, Dexter had, if he chose, an hour.

Although in one way now so idle, Anne seemed to herself never to have
been so busy before. Miss Vanhorn kept her at work upon plants through a
large portion of each day, and required her to be promptly ready upon
all other occasions. She barely found time to write to Miss Lois, who
was spending the summer in a state betwixt anger and joy, veering one
way by reason, the other by wrath, yet unable to refrain entirely from
satisfaction over the new clothes for the children which Miss Vanhorn's
money had enabled her to buy. The allowance was paid in advance; and it
made Anne light-hearted whenever she thought, as she did daily, of the
comforts it gave to those she loved. To Rast, Anne wrote in the early
morning, her only free time. Rast was now on the island, but he was to
go in a f