Una spent a white night walking up and down the floor of her room. Rev. and Mrs. Meredith had been surprised at how pale and quiet she was during supper. There were purple shadows under her eyes and her brows were drawn together, eyes anguished. Still Una did not forget to do her duty. She ate her supper like a good girl and helped Rosemary wash and dry the dishes. And then she fled to her bedchamber and locked the door.

It was the first time any door in the manse had been locked against its other inhabitants. The sweet little bed-room over the stairs had always been sacred to little, feminine dreams. There had never been anything so dire as to warrant a locking of the door. How many nights Una had laid in bed and listened to Faith's whispered secrets! Sometimes she had even shared her own. But now Faith was gone. The boys' room down the hall was dark and closed as well. For the first time, the flower-papered walls of the room seemed to close in on her, and Una thought she could not bear it. She would scream! But she did not. She gave a little cry but it was taken from her lips by the wind.

She walked up and down the floor – up and down the floor. Oh, how easy it would be to marry Shirley! How she would like to be a wife – to have a house of her own! Una was not ever mistreated by her friends. But only sometimes little mindless comments stung her.

For instance, when Nan bragged about her little home. The Lowbridge manse was a charming house. One could not fault Nan for being so pleased with it. Only when Nan had cried, "Oh, I pity girls who do not have a home of their own!" it had stung Una deeply. Una did not begrudge Nan her little house but it did sting! Una had dismissed it at the time. Nan would have rather died than make Una feel insignificant. It was a thoughtless remark, not meant to be cruel. But it cut Una deeply, now, to think of it.

Worse somehow were Faith's cheery letters. She was so fond of writing of her family and adding little side-notes – "When you get married, darling Una" – "When you have children of your own, dearest Una!" Faith meant her words to be optimistic, of course, but they only served now to remind Una of the widening gulf between her own lonely life and her sister's fulfilled womanhood.

And others were not so nice. "We're not as young as we once were," Mary Vance was fond of saying with a sidelong glance. Kitty Alec never refrained from asking Una her age every time she saw her. Last time had been a week after her birthday and Una had almost choked when she had to say, "Twenty-five." Twenty-five! Twenty-five was a quarter of a century! Why, Mother had had Jerry and Faith and Una by the time she was twenty-five.

If she was to marry Shirley, no one could ever ask her how old she was again with that certain look of eye, that question expressed in the corners of the mouth. Una would gladly listen to every other girl on the planet talk about her home – as long as she had one of her own!

And – and it would make Shirley so happy. He loved her. Una knew that. Perhaps – perhaps he felt toward her the way she had always felt toward Walter. It would be – so nice – to make someone else happy. Una loved Shirley – he was dear to her – and she did so want him to be happy.

But just when Una thought she had convinced herself she wavered. Oh, she had kept true to her lost love for so long! How could she deny it now? She felt sick with herself for even thinking that she could! Una went on like this into the wee hours, pacing her pretty, rose-patterned carpet as the manse grew silent and dark and fell into sleep.

At three o'clock in the morning – the most desperate, lonely hour of the night – Una went to the drawer of her writing table and took out a piece of folded paper from between the leaves of a poetry-book. It was a letter. She read it over and replaced it, and then she went and knelt down before her open window.

A rainshower had come up suddenly in the night and passed just as quickly, leaving a clean new world and a cool little breeze. Una let the night breeze wash over her, ruffling her hair. She was baptized by it, and knew at once what she must do. She set her little white teeth and clasped her hands. She made her decision – for better or for worse. And then finally, at long last, sleep mercifully came.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The rain had gone by sunrise, but the world was still cool and grey when Una awoke. She managed somehow to get through the day – though it was difficult. She found her hands shook when she did her sewing and she dropped and smashed one of Rosemary's pink lustre cups. Rosemary did not care about the cup but she looked at Una sharply when the girl apologized through white lips. Why, what ever on earth could have made her look so pale and stricken?

After supper Una excused herself and went upstairs to dress. She felt as though she must put some effort into her appearance. Especially when she was going to do what she had to do. But it was hard to muster much enthusiasm. Una had always loved her pretty dresses and usually spent much time lovingly choosing her apparel. Tonight she put on the first dress she could find – an old black crepe. She felt it suited her mood.

She did not know that she looked like an alluring white moth in it. Shirley thought so as he watched her come over the hill and down to Rainbow Valley. Her skin was so very paleS! The dress had a round neck and it showed off her fine shoulders. He gloated over her in the gathering dusk. And then Una was before him, wan and trembling.

"Have you made your decision?" Shirley asked her gently.

Una looked up at him, a bruised flower.

"Shirley," she pleaded. "If I – say – no – we will still be able to have our lovely walks – and talks – together. Won't we? We will still always be the very best of friends?"

"Of course," said Shirley, but Una saw in his face that it was not true. If she were to refuse him now, it would never be the same again, never! Their lovely glow of companionship would be gone, a flame for ever blown out. Shirley would go away. He would not come to her again, and if he did it would be strained and horrible between them. All at once Una felt very bleak. How was she to fill the days – weeks, years – that stretched before her, long and lonely, without Shirley's friendship to fill them?

"I will marry you," she said hurriedly – and dully.

Shirley saw that her eyes were full of tears but he was too caught up in his own rush of sudden joy to fully comprehend what they meant. He only knew that Una, elusive Una, was to be his at last! He thought perhaps if she was not overcome with love for him she was shaken by the depths of some emotion. Of course a bride-to-be should not look so tearful and sad, but now there were years ahead of him in which he could make her happy – he would – he would! Shirley vowed it would be so.

Shirley did not kiss her. He knew somehow that the time for kissing had not come – not yet. So he did not try to, although he wanted nothing more than to touch his lips to hers. Una thought fleetingly that he might kiss her. But Shirley did not. Instead, he took Una's hand and held it in his own.

"Thank you, darling," was all he said. "You've made me very happy – the happiest man in the world."

And then they went back to Ingleside to tell their people the news.