Anne collected herself and sat calmly behind the counter, recording into a small book the various transactions that had been made in the shop that afternoon. She directed all of her awareness to recording those numbers and did not even notice Christine telling Gilbert she had to go if she were to make it to class on time. She was oblivious to the clanging of the door as Christine left.

"Excuse me," said Gilbert.

Anne looked up coldly.

"My friend there, you see, her birthday is next week, and I wanted to get her a nice, stylish dress. The thing is, I have no idea how to go about it. Any suggestions?"

Anne unwillingly pushed aside the account book. She led Gilbert over to the fabric and pointed out some material that she thought would look especially nice on Christine. She could not subdue the slight thrill that ran through her as she imagined the contrast between Christine's ivory skin and the purplish gray silk she was showing Gilbert.

"Are you sure this is the right color for her?" Gilbert asked. "She's very particular about her clothes."

"Oh, no, this is perfect!" Anne said. "Her ivory skin will look perfectly angelic, and it will bring out the violet in her eyes."

As soon as she said it, she felt ashamed. Gilbert could not help smiling, though. He was bewildered by this young woman who seemed so detached and indifferent on the surface. But that tear earlier, and her lively depiction of Christine in the gown had given him a glimpse beyond the cold facade. He hardly knew what to think of her. He handed her the money for the gown and agreed to pick it up next week.

She was relieved when he left. She could not understand why emotions she thought she had buried for good were suddenly springing up in his presence. She began to feel very bitter.

"Why must this happen to me?" she thought angrily. "I surrendered everything; isn't that enough? I have given up all my dreams. All I want is to live in peace. I accept my lot in life. I am more fortunate than many. There, I will content myself with that. At least I am not starving to death in some foreign country...Although," she could not help thinking, "there would be a certain romance to that. But nevermind. I will be sensible."

But the strange thrill she felt when she noticed the leather wallet lying on the counter was hardly sensible. Nor was the movement of her feet, as they carried her swifly out of the store in pursuit of Gilbert Blythe. She could have simply waited in the store for him; she knew he would come back for it. And the sky was so dark, the air so warm, it seemed inevitable that the clouds would burst at any moment and she would be caught in a violent storm.

But she could not help herself. She told herself she was going after him because she needed some fresh air, and because he might need that money right away what if he had to pay some great debt, and when he couldn't because he didn't have his wallet, the people he owed mercilessly beat him to death? She couldn't live with that kind of guilt on her conscience. It was the only reasonable thing to do, going after him like this.

She headed in the direction of Redmond. A young, ambitious looking man like him surely must be a student there.

She had been running after him for less than a minute when the storm began. But she was not intimidated by it. She had always loved storms. Running through the sheets of rain, thunder clapping all around her, and bolts of lightning brightening the gray sky, made her feel almost wild. She stopped for a moment and looked straight up into the sky, drinking in the fresh rain. A new vigor spread through her, and she began laughing hysterically, twirling around like a madwoman, her arms raised above her head as if she were beckoning to the heavens.

After a few moments she realized what she was doing and stopped immediately. What if someone had seen her? She looked around nervously, but there was no one in sight. With a sigh of relief, she continued her pursuit of Gilbert.

She did not see the young man who had been standing ahead of her behind a large oak tree during her outburst. He had watched the whole thing, mesmerized, as if she were some wild nymph. He revealed himself as she passed by the tree.

"Hello there!" he cried, "Are you alright? It's quite a nasty storm here; come take shelter under this big tree. I know you aren't supposed to stand under trees during storms, but by the size of this one I'd say it's been through hundreds of storms, and plenty of other exciting events. It would take more than a storm to break its spirit."

Initially Anne panicked and thought he must have seen her. But the normal tone of his voice gradually assured her he must not have. If he had, surely he wouldn't want to be anywhere near her. So she joined him.

"I came after you because you left your wallet at the shop," she yelled through the roar of the storm.

But he didn't hear a word. He was gazing intently at this wild creature. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone brilliantly through the strands of wet hair clinging to her face. She was trembling.

"Here, take this," he said, wrapping his coat around her. She was intensely aware of the touch of his hot skin against her wet arms. New feelings surged through her body; she felt as if she'd been given a glimpse of a different world. A world she had given up, she reminded herself, and whose acknowledgement would only cause her more pain.

"I have to get back to the shop," she said firmly, "I'm not supposed to leave, you know, someone might come in. Here," she said, handing him the wallet.

He took it mechanically, still unable to avert his eyes from her large gray ones.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Anne was somewhat startled by this abrupt question, but she answered politely. "Anne Shirley."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Shirley. I'm Gilbert Blythe."

Anne's eyes faltered under his intense gaze, and she was ashamed to feel the blood rushing to her face.

"I...I should really get going," she stuttered, unwrapping herself from his coat.

"Wait!" he cried. She turned around.

"What?"

"Thank you for bringing me my wallet, Miss Shirley. You didn't have to do that."

Anne mumbled some sort of typical reply and began to walk away again.

"Miss Shirley, have you lived in Kingsport long?" he asked.

Everything told her to keep walking. She knew no good could come out of talking with this boy. It would reawaken parts of her that were best kept numb. But her feet wouldn't move. She turned around.

"About a year now. You?"

"Oh, I've only been here a few weeks. I'm in my first year at Redmond. But I'm from the island originally. Where did you live before this?"

"I was born in Bolingbrook, Nova Scotia. I've spent most of my life in a series of orphanages, though."

So that was a clue to unlocking the mysteries of this strange girl, Gilbert thought.

"I see," he said kindly. "What brought you to Kingsport, then?"

"Mostly I just wanted to escape. I suppose anywhere would have done. But I also wanted to go to college. I thought I would find employment somewhere and save up. But at this rate, I'll be well into my eighties before I can afford tuition. Nearly all my wages go towards my boarding," she said sadly, wondering why she was sharing all of this with a complete stranger.

"Well did you think about applying for a scholarship?" Gilbert asked.

"Vaguely. I wouldn't know how to go about it, really. Aren't most scholarships only for people currently enrolled?"

"Sure, some are. But I happen to know of an essay contest sponsored by the English department. Anyone can enter. The winner gets a full year scholarship."

Anne's eyes grew very large, and for a moment the weary, melancholy expression that had taken seemingly permanent residence on her face was replaced by a young, hopeful one. Gilbert's heart fluttered at the sight of it.

"You have to apply, Anne! I hope you don't mind me calling you Anne."

She didn't object, so he went on.

"I'm sure you'd have a shot at it in fact I could even help you," he said, figuring that most orphans probably weren't exposed to a very thorough education.

Something of the old pride which had marked so many experiences in her childhood, but had been gradually replaced by an expression of dreary acceptance and conformity, flashed up into her eyes. She was perfectly capable of writing an essay on her own, orphan or not, and it was mighty presumptuous of this cocksure college boy to think she would need his help.

"I'm sure I can manage on my own, thank you," she said icily.

"Suit yourself," he said with a grin.

The storm had finally subsided and the sun was just poking out from behind a white cloud.

"I have to go," Anne said suddenly. "I shouldn't have stayed this long. Thank you for telling me about the essay."

"Wait, let me walk you back it's still raining a little."

But she was already running away. He watched her until she disappeared behind a bend, by which point he had already thought of several good excuses for visiting that shop in the near future.