Roy turned away and stood for a few minutes looking out seaward. When he came back to Anne, he was very pale again.
“You can give me no hope?” he said.
Anne shook her head mutely.
“Then—good-bye,” said Roy. “I can’t understand it—I can’t believe you are not the woman I’ve believed you to be. But reproaches are idle between us. You are the only woman I can ever love. I thank you for your friendship, at least. Good-bye, Anne.”
“Good-bye,” faltered Anne. When Roy had gone she sat for a long time in the pavilion, watching a white mist creeping subtly and remorselessly landward up the harbor. It was her hour of humiliation and self-contempt and shame. Their waves went over her. And yet, underneath it all, was a queer sense of recovered freedom.
She slipped into Patty’s Place in the dusk and escaped to her room. But Phil was there on the window seat.
“Wait,” said Anne, flushing to anticipate the scene. “Wait til you hear what I have to say. Phil, Roy asked me to marry him-and I refused.”
“You—you refused him?” said Phil blankly.
“Yes.”
“Anne Shirley, are you in your senses?”