Roy asked Anne to marry him in the little pavilion on the harbor shore where they had talked on the rainy day of their first meeting.  Anne thought it very romantic that he should have chosen that spot.  And his proposal was as beautifully worded as if he had copied it, as one of Ruby Gillis’ lovers had done, out of a Deportment of Courtship and Marriage.  The whole effect was quite flawless.  And it was also sincere.  There was no doubt that Roy meant what he said.  There was no false note to jar the symphony.  Anne felt that she ought to be thrilling from head to foot.  But she wasn’t; she was horribly cool.  When Roy paused for his answer she opened her lips to say her fateful yes.  And then—­she found herself trembling as if she were reeling back from a precipice.  To her came one of those moments when we realize, as by a blinding flash of illumination, more than all our previous years have taught us.  She pulled her hand from Roy’s.

“Oh, I can’t marry you—­I can’t—­I can’t,” she cried, wildly.

Roy turned pale—­and also looked rather foolish.  He had—­small blame to him—­felt very sure.

“What do you mean?” he stammered.

“I mean that I can’t marry you,” repeated Anne desperately.  “I thought I could—­but I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?” Roy asked more calmly.

“Because—­I don’t care enough for you.”

A crimson streak came into Roy’s face.

“So you’ve just been amusing yourself these two years?” he said slowly.

“No, no, I haven’t,” gasped poor Anne.  Oh, how could she explain?  She couldn’t explain.  There are some things that cannot be explained.  “I did think I cared—­truly I did—­but I know now I don’t.”

“You have ruined my life,” said Roy bitterly.

“Forgive me,” pleaded Anne miserably, with hot cheeks and stinging eyes.

Roy turned away and stood for a few minutes looking out seaward.  When he came back to Anne, he was very pale again.

“You can give me no hope?” he said.

Anne shook her head mutely.

“Then—­good-bye,” said Roy.  “I can’t understand it—­I can’t believe you are not the woman I’ve believed you to be.  But reproaches are idle between us.  You are the only woman I can ever love.  I thank you for your friendship, at least.  Good-bye, Anne.”

“Good-bye,” faltered Anne.  When Roy had gone she sat for a long time in the pavilion, watching a white mist creeping subtly and remorselessly landward up the harbor.  It was her hour of humiliation and self-contempt and shame.  Their waves went over her.  And yet, underneath it all, was a queer sense of recovered freedom.

She slipped into Patty’s Place in the dusk and escaped to her room.  But Phil was there on the window seat.

“Wait,” said Anne, flushing to anticipate the scene.  “Wait til you hear what I have to say.  Phil, Roy asked me to marry him-and I refused.”

“You—­you refused him?” said Phil blankly.