She had a secret, carefully-hidden fancy for Walter Blythe
that nobody but Rilla ever suspected. Rilla sympathized with it and
wished Walter would return it. She liked Una better than Faith, whose
beauty and aplomb rather overshadowed other girls--and Rilla did not
enjoy being overshadowed.
But just now she was very happy. It was so delightful to be tripping
with her friends down that dark, gleaming road sprinkled with its little
spruces and firs, whose balsam made all the air resinous around them.
Meadows of sunset afterlight were behind the westerning hills. Before
them was the shining harbour. A bell was ringing in the little church
over-harbour and the lingering dream-notes died around the dim,
amethystine points. The gulf beyond was still silvery blue in the
afterlight. Oh, it was all glorious--the clear air with its salt tang,
the balsam of the firs, the laughter of her friends. Rilla loved life--
its bloom and brilliance; she loved the ripple of music, the hum of
merry conversation; she wanted to walk on forever over this road of
silver and shadow. It was her first party and she was going to have a
splendid time. There was nothing in the world to worry about--not even
freckles and over-long legs--nothing except one little haunting fear
that nobody would ask her to dance. It was beautiful and satisfying just
to be alive--to be fifteen--to be pretty.
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