It is always a very puzzling question . . . what can somebody see in somebody else?  But how fortunate after all that it is so, for if everybody saw alike . . . well, in that case, as the old Indian said, “Everybody would want my squaw.”  It was plain that Diana did see something in Fred Wright, however Anne’s eyes might be holden.  Diana came to Green Gables the next evening, a pensive, shy young lady, and told Anne the whole story in the dusky seclusion of the east gable.  Both girls cried and kissed and laughed.

“I’m so happy,” said Diana, “but it does seem ridiculous to think of me being engaged.”

“What is it really like to be engaged?” asked Anne curiously.

“Well, that all depends on who you’re engaged to,” answered Diana, with that maddening air of superior wisdom always assumed by those who are engaged over those who are not.  “It’s perfectly lovely to be engaged to Fred . . . but I think it would be simply horrid to be engaged to anyone else.”

“There’s not much comfort for the rest of us in that, seeing that there is only one Fred,” laughed Anne.

“Oh, Anne, you don’t understand,” said Diana in vexation.  “I didn’t mean that . . . it’s so hard to explain.  Never mind, you’ll understand sometime, when your own turn comes.”

“Bless you, dearest of Dianas, I understand now.  What is an imagination for if not to enable you to peep at life through other people’s eyes?”

“You must be my bridesmaid, you know, Anne.  Promise me that . . . wherever you may be when I’m married.”

“I’ll come from the ends of the earth if necessary,” promised Anne solemnly.

“Of course, it won’t be for ever so long yet,” said Diana, blushing.  “Three years at the very least . . . for I’m only eighteen and mother says no daughter of hers shall be married before she’s twenty-one.  Besides, Fred’s father is going to buy the Abraham Fletcher farm for him and he says he’s got to have it two thirds paid for before he’ll give it to him in his own name.  But three years isn’t any too much time to get ready for housekeeping, for I haven’t a speck of fancy work made yet.  But I’m going to begin crocheting doilies tomorrow.  Myra Gillis had thirty-seven doilies when she was married and I’m determined I shall have as many as she had.”

“I suppose it would be perfectly impossible to keep house with only thirty-six doilies,” conceded Anne, with a solemn face but dancing eyes.

Diana looked hurt.

“I didn’t think you’d make fun of me, Anne,” she said reproachfully.

“Dearest, I wasn’t making fun of you,” cried Anne repentantly.  “I was only teasing you a bit.  I think you’ll make the sweetest little housekeeper in the world.  And I think it’s perfectly lovely of you to be planning already for your home o’dreams.”