Hadn't it been the height of absurdity for her to suppose that
this splendid young officer had anything special to say to her, little
Rilla Blythe of Glen St. Mary? Likely she hadn't understood him after
all--he had only meant that he didn't want a mob of folks around making
a fuss over him and trying to lionize him, as they had probably done
over-harbour. Yes, of course, that was all he meant--and she, little
idiot, had gone and vainly imagined that he didn't want anybody but her.
And he would think she had manoeuvred everybody away so that they could
be alone together, and he would laugh to himself at her.
"This is better luck than I hoped for," said Ken, leaning back in his
chair and looking at her with very unconcealed admiration in his
eloquent eyes. "I was sure someone would be hanging about and it was
just you I wanted to see, Rilla-my-Rilla."
Rilla's dream castle flashed into the landscape again. This was
unmistakable enough certainly--not much doubt as to his meaning here.
"There aren't--so many of us--to poke around as there used to be," she
said softly.
"No, that's so," said Ken gently. "Jem and Walter and the girls away--
it makes a big blank, doesn't it? But--" he leaned forward until his
dark curls almost brushed her hair--"doesn't Fred Arnold try to fill
the blank occasionally. I've been told so."
At this moment, before Rilla could make any reply, Jims began to cry at
the top of his voice in the room whose open window was just above them--
Jims, who hardly ever cried in the evening.
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