“Nobody except her parents ever loved poor Atossa, that’s certain, not even her husband,” averred Mrs. Lynde.  “She was his fourth wife.  He’d sort of got into the habit of marrying.  He only lived a few years after he married her.  The doctor said he died of dyspepsia, but I shall always maintain that he died of Atossa’s tongue, that’s what.  Poor soul, she always knew everything about her neighbors, but she never was very well acquainted with herself.  Well, she’s gone anyhow; and I suppose the next excitement will be Diana’s wedding.”

“It seems funny and horrible to think of Diana’s being married,” sighed Anne, hugging her knees and looking through the gap in the Haunted Wood to the light that was shining in Diana’s room.

“I don’t see what’s horrible about it, when she’s doing so well,” said Mrs. Lynde emphatically.  “Fred Wright has a fine farm and he is a model young man.”

“He certainly isn’t the wild, dashing, wicked, young man Diana once wanted to marry,” smiled Anne.  “Fred is extremely good.”

“That’s just what he ought to be.  Would you want Diana to marry a wicked man?  Or marry one yourself?”

“Oh, no.  I wouldn’t want to marry anybody who was wicked, but I think I’d like it if he could be wicked and wouldn’t.  Now, Fred is hopelessly good.”

“You’ll have more sense some day, I hope,” said Marilla.

Marilla spoke rather bitterly.  She was grievously disappointed.  She knew Anne had refused Gilbert Blythe.  Avonlea gossip buzzed over the fact, which had leaked out, nobody knew how.  Perhaps Charlie Sloane had guessed and told his guesses for truth.  Perhaps Diana had betrayed it to Fred and Fred had been indiscreet.  At all events it was known; Mrs. Blythe no longer asked Anne, in public or private, if she had heard lately from Gilbert, but passed her by with a frosty bow.  Anne, who had always liked Gilbert’s merry, young-hearted mother, was grieved in secret over this.  Marilla said nothing; but Mrs. Lynde gave Anne many exasperated digs about it, until fresh gossip reached that worthy lady, through the medium of Moody Spurgeon MacPherson’s mother, that Anne had another “beau” at college, who was rich and handsome and good all in one.  After that Mrs. Rachel held her tongue, though she still wished in her inmost heart that Anne had accepted Gilbert.  Riches were all very well; but even Mrs. Rachel, practical soul though she was, did not consider them the one essential.  If Anne “liked” the Handsome Unknown better than Gilbert there was nothing more to be said; but Mrs. Rachel was dreadfully afraid that Anne was going to make the mistake of marrying for money.  Marilla knew Anne too well to fear this; but she felt that something in the universal scheme of things had gone sadly awry.

“What is to be, will be,” said Mrs. Rachel gloomily, “and what isn’t to be happens sometimes.  I can’t help believing it’s going to happen in Anne’s case, if Providence doesn’t interfere, that’s what.”  Mrs. Rachel sighed.  She was afraid Providence wouldn’t interfere; and she didn’t dare to.