“Why?” said Anne, in astonishment. “I thought you liked him.”
“Well, so I did, in a kind of way. But I’ll never forgive him for what he done to Leslie. There’s that poor child eating her heart out about him—as if she hadn’t had trouble enough—and him ranting round Toronto, I’ve no doubt, enjoying himself same as ever. Just like a man.”
“Oh, Miss Cornelia, how did you find out?”
“Lord, Anne, dearie, I’ve got eyes, haven’t I? And I’ve known Leslie since she was a baby. There’s been a new kind of heartbreak in her eyes all the fall, and I know that writer-man was behind it somehow. I’ll never forgive myself for being the means of bringing him here. But I never expected he’d be like he was. I thought he’d just be like the other men Leslie had boarded—conceited young asses, every one of them, that she never had any use for. One of them did try to flirt with her once and she froze him out—so bad, I feel sure he’s never got himself thawed since. So I never thought of any danger.”
“Don’t let Leslie suspect you know her secret,” said Anne hurriedly. “I think it would hurt her.”
“Trust me, Anne, dearie. I wasn’t born yesterday. Oh, a plague on all the men! One of them ruined Leslie’s life to begin with, and now another of the tribe comes and makes her still more wretched. Anne, this world is an awful place, believe me.”
“There’s something in the world amiss
Will be unriddled by and by,”
quoted Anne dreamily.
“If it is, it’ll be in a world where there aren’t any men,” said Miss Cornelia gloomily.
“What have the men been doing now?” asked Gilbert, entering.