Una knew that love would never come into her life now--it
was buried for ever under the blood-stained soil "Somewhere in France."
No one but herself--and perhaps Rilla--knew it--would ever know it.
She had no right in the eyes of her world to grieve. She must hide and
bear her long pain as best she could--alone. But she, too, would keep
faith.
CHAPTER XXIV
MARY IS JUST IN TIME
The autumn of 1916 was a bitter season for Ingleside. Mrs. Blythe's
return to health was slow, and sorrow and loneliness were in all hearts.
Every one tried to hide it from the others and "carry on" cheerfully.
Rilla laughed a good deal. Nobody at Ingleside was deceived by her
laughter; it came from her lips only, never from her heart. But
outsiders said some people got over trouble very easily, and Irene
Howard remarked that she was surprised to find how shallow Rilla Blythe
really was. "Why, after all her pose of being so devoted to Walter, she
doesn't seem to mind his death at all. Nobody has ever seen her shed a
tear or heard her mention his name. She has evidently quite forgotten
him. Poor fellow--you'd really think his family would feel it more. I
spoke of him to Rilla at the last Junior Red meeting--of how fine and
brave and splendid he was--and I said life could never be just the same
to me again, now that Walter had gone--we were such friends, you know--
why I was the very first person he told about having enlisted--and
Rilla answered, as coolly and indifferently as if she were speaking of
an entire stranger, 'He was just one of many fine and splendid boys who
have given everything for their country.
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