Happy Easter again! I received as gifts the entire Anne of Green Gables trilogy—finally! to watch the third movie!—which actually made me rather depressed; also, the novel Before Green Gables, by author Budge Wilson. I'm about half-way through BGG and already I think it is a must-read for any serious Anne-girl.
-M.R.
Chapter Eleven: Consequence To Slighted Women
Mr. Darcy, with grave propriety, requested to be allowed the honour of her hand, but in vain. Elizabeth was determined…she looked archly, and turned away. Her resistance had not injured her with the gentleman, and he was (still) thinking of her with some complacency…
-Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Gilbert had been given a book by Miss Stacey, "It's very well-written," she said, "a very famous tale about a clever young woman whose worst fault is prejudice, against a proud young man, whom she hates."
Gilbert thought Miss Stacey knew more than she let on.
He had turned it over in his hands. Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen.
It was a good book so far, even if it was mostly about girls—five of them—the Bennet sisters—Jane, Elizabeth, Mary, Catherine, and Lydia. They had a very frivolous mother and a bookish father, and were a little more than poor if not a little less than rich. The novel was set in Hertfordshire, in the countryside of England—whence Gilbert's mother hailed.
At the beginning of the book, a young man called Charles Bingley had just arrived in the neighborhood, a rich man with "four or five thousand (pounds) a year". Mrs. Bennet, like the rest of her neighbors who had daughters, was eager to present her five children to Mr. Bingley at the ball to be held soon, in hopes of Bingley's marrying one of them.
At the ball, Bingley immediately became smitten with Miss Jane Bennet, as he asked her continuously to dance. But with him to the ball had come Bingley's uncivil sisters, Louisa and Caroline, and a man called Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Darcy was "tall, dark and handsome" to Bingley's fair attractiveness, and about four times richer; but when the people in Hertfordshire made his acquaintance he was found to be proud, arrogant, and conceited.
Gilbert, sitting at the kitchen table, had just come to the end of the description of Mr. Darcy:
Amongst the most violent against him was Mrs. Bennet, whose dislike of his general behaviour was sharpened into particular resentment by his having slighted one of her daughters.
Elizabeth Bennet had been obliged, by the scarcity of gentlemen, to sit down for two dances; and during part of that time, Mr. Darcy had been standing near enough for her to overhear a conversation between him and Mr. Bingley, who came from the dance for a few minutes, to press his friend to join it.
"Come, Darcy," said he, "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."
"I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with."
Gilbert was beginning to think rather poorly of this Mr. Darcy. Money and land, though convenient, should not make a man better than country folk—why, Gilbert himself was country-folk! He read on for Bingley's reaction.
"I would not be as fastidious as you are," cried Bingley, "for a kingdom!"
"Mum?" said Gilbert, without moving his eyes from the page.
"Yes, Gilbert?" that lady, who was peeling carrots scarce feet away, replied.
"What does 'fastidious' mean?"
"It means being very meticulous and picky; why?"
"'S'in my book."
"…for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life, as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty."
"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," said Mr. Darcy, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet.
"Oh, she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I daresay very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."
"Which do you mean?" and turning round, he looked for a moment at Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own, and coldly said, "She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting time with me."
At that moment Gilbert was applied to, to put his book away and eat his dinner.
Anne had not been at school that day, no doubt due to Minnie May Barry's croup, which was whispered about as having been successfully tended to by Anne; Diana was not available for comment, being also not in attendance for her lessons.
But this thrilling subject had soon given way when Miss Stacey, among her end-of-school announcements, had notified the class (those who did not already know) of the Christmas ball to be held in Carmody two nights hence—upon 23 December.
"…though I only wish Mother would let me go," sighed Josie as they walked home from school. "She says I shan't unless I find some one to ride with, because father's too busy and she doesn't know how."
Gilbert and Josie were again—for lack of a better word—friends, despite Anne's near-death experience, and he was genuinely aggrieved to see Josie so distressed. "Well," he said, "My father's taking Charlie, Fred and his sister, and I to Carmody for the ball—there'll be no girls with us except little Luisa Wright, because Fred—he's a very good big brother—teased his parents so hard to let her go though she's only eleven—but if you want to come with us—"
Josie, who had been rather droopy until this moment, perked up all at once. "You really mean it, Gil?"
"'Course I do," said Gilbert uneasily.
Josie hugged Gilbert—"Thank you, thank you!" and ran a few yards ahead to proclaim loudly to Julia Bell that "Gilbert just asked me to go to the ball with him!"
Julia and Josie both looked back at Gilbert and waved. Josie was all happy grins.
Gilbert grimaced and waved back. When they had fallen back to gossiping he groaned aloud and kicked the dirt—HOW do I always get myself into these situations!
But Josie or no Josie, the night promised to be a gay one. (Actually Josie looked quite nice in lavender satin, but Gilbert was looking forward to being disappointed waiting for Anne to show up—it was rumoured that Miss Cuthbert never let her "go gadding about".) The night air was crisp but not chilly; the lanterns lit along the last part of the Carmody road glowed red and green and gold upon the snow; the sleighful of children chattered and laughed to their hearts' content.
When they had laid off their coats and wraps in the upstairs coat-room of the assembly-rooms, the boys and girls proceeded downstairs into the large room designated for the ball, which was already begun.
Gilbert politely asked Josie for a dance; as she had had no other engagements as of yet it was not necessary to sign her dance-card, and they dashed off about the room amidst the strains of a Viennese waltz.
Gilbert thanked his lucky stars that he had paid attention during the dancing lessons his mother had forced upon him; for the Viennese waltz is harder than one's average, garden-variety normal waltz. Girls, loving to dance anyways, generally had it down "pat", so that those who did not know the tall curly-haired boy and his diminutive blonde partner heaved a sigh of admiration upon seeing them together.
Indeed Gilbert was all grace and poise until he and Josie turned, as the waltz dictated, and Gilbert caught sight of the two girls who had just entered: one in pink with purple trim, that contrasted prettily with her inky black hair; the other in a pale soft blue that set off her red hair most admirably.
Then he tripped.
It was She.
I need not explain to my readers the hope, joy, and simple pure love all contained into that one little word: She—or even He, as the case may be.
But for Gilbert it was She, and from then on as he danced with Josie it was not as much dancing a waltz, as stumbling about to a compound-meter piece of music.
As the waltz carried him—them—closer to Anne and Diana, he could, astonishingly clearly, hear their whispered conference over the waltz's lilting strains:
"It's too bad you've been so awful to him," smirked Diana. "He might have asked you to dance."
"If I wanted him to ask—which I don't," Anne retorted scornfully, "he certainly would. Gilbert Blythe would stand on his head for me if I asked him to!"
Gilbert was beginning to not like where this thread of discussion was going very much. He glared at Anne when she was not looking; but some one else was, and—
"Oh! he looked right at you again, Anne!" shrieked Diana. "I bet you couldn't get him to dance with you!"
Now Gilbert had been meaning to ask Anne for a dance anyways, though in earnest conviction of being snubbed; but as a way of reminding her that there was at least one person in the world who could maintain kindness in the face of open, unwonted and undeserved hostility. He saw that, ironically, Anne herself had just rendered such a request impossible.
Turning round, Mr. Blythe looked for a moment at Anne, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own, and coldly said, "She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting time with me."
Gilbert, feeling very snubbed and ridiculous at present, rather liked the sound of that.
"All right, Diana," Anne was saying. "If you insist."
Just then the waltz ended, and Gilbert gratefully traded Josie for a cup of punch.
"Gilbert Blythe!"
Gilbert turned to see an elderly dowager, built along the lines of a Pomeranian grenadier—if the Pomeranians had been fond of mauve silk and artificial white doves—looming towards him. Quickly he cast about for a means of escape, but it was too late—Mary-Marie Pearce was upon him.
(A/N: I'm SORRY. I have an absurd penchant for that name. I fully enjoy giving it to my own creations—who are usually ridiculously-minded, not to mention ridiculously-dressed.
If you haven't read No Liddell Wonder, my Alice In Wonderland fic, you have no idea what I'm talking about. Again—my apologies. Carry on.)
"Grandmary!" he exclaimed, affecting real joy.
His maternal grandmother raised a quizzing-glass that had gone out of style some decades ago—no doubt, then, while she was still a young debutante in her first Season—to scrutinize her grandson.
"You look too much like your father," was her verdict. "Boyish and irresponsible—whatever happened to dear Jennifer's nose? Yours looks like the nurse dropped you in the coal-hod—on purpose."
Gilbert drank more punch.
"And I did NOT see you in the summer when Mary's twins were born, Gilbert. As their cousin—although heaven knows why—you should feel a sense of responsibility and paternity towards them. You are more than ten years older."
Although it would, had it been any one else, have been welcome at this point, an interruption in the form of an affectingly-dignified "Good evening, Gilbert Blythe," from behind him, in a timid, lilting voice he knew all too well, was not received. He steeled himself not to look round at Anne Shirley.
But Gilbert's Grandmary actually looked round him and saw her. Her eyebrows practically disappeared into her hairline as she said, "And now you've got all these foolish young woman tripping about after you; I dare say you are good-looking enough for Avonlea, but I do declare I can not understand what the youth are coming t—"
"Yoo-hoo! Mrs. Pearce!" cried Mrs. Spencer from across the room; Grandmary, with a threatening wave of her quizzing-glass, departed to fry bigger and more foolish fish; and Gilbert was left alone with Anne.
Staunchly he turned only half-way to survey the dancers.
"A glass of punch?" a matron queried Anne.
"Thank you," he heard her reply.
Gilbert, moving a little bit further away, gulped more of his own punch, hoping she would not stand there much longer—
Then sweet revenge materialized in the form of Diana Barry. He pretended he had just then noticed the latter girl; and going over to her—she was next to Anne now—and clasping her hands, exclaimed: "Diana! You look wonderful tonight!"
Despite a glance at Anne, Diana's entire face lit up.
"Merry Christmas!" he finished.
"Well…Merry Christmas to you too, Gilbert!" Diana returned, flustered.
Gilbert walked off and remained in a corner, armed with cookies and punch, for some time; when he felt sufficiently strong enough to re-emerge, he saw that Diana and Anne were both dancing—with each other. Every one that saw them smiled and laughed.
Returning for a fourth glass of punch, Gilbert noticed a Dance Card: ANNE SHIRLEY had been left upon the table.
She would never miss it…would she?