typifying all she had missed and must forever miss. The light went out of her face and eyes; the girl vanished; it was the sorrowful, cheated woman who answered the invitation almost coldly and got herself away with a pitiful haste.

Anne watched her until she was lost in the shadows of the chill and misty night. Then she turned slowly back to the glow of her own radiant hearthstone.

“Isn’t she lovely, Gilbert? Her hair fascinates me. Miss Cornelia says it reaches to her feet. Ruby Gillis had beautiful hair—but Leslie’s is alive—every thread of it is living gold.”

“She is very beautiful,” agreed Gilbert, so heartily that Anne almost wished he were a little less enthusiastic.

“Gilbert, would you like my hair better if it were like Leslie’s?” she asked wistfully.

“I wouldn’t have your hair any color but just what it is for the world,” said Gilbert, with one or two convincing accompaniments.

You wouldn’t be Anne if you had golden hair—or hair of any color but”—

“Red,” said Anne, with gloomy satisfaction.

“Yes, red—to give warmth to that milk-white skin and those shining gray-green eyes of yours. Golden hair wouldn’t suit you at all Queen Anne—my Queen Anne—queen of my heart and life and home.”

“Then you may admire Leslie’s all you like,” said Anne magnanimously.