Despite her fears, the dance ended up being one of the loveliest nights Gwen had ever enjoyed. Very few of the girls and boys were familiar with the old-fashioned dances, so she was not alone in her stumbling steps. In fact, the general air of clumsiness left everyone with a friendly, merry feeling as they laughed at each other and themselves. Even Oliver seemed to relax back into treating Gwen as a friend, instead of the awkward air of a possible suitor he had worn before.

When Gwen tripped and stepped on his feet—again—he cut short her apology with a laugh. "You can't say you didn't warn me!"

She flashed him a mischievous grin. "I could still outrun you, at least, even in this dress!"

"I won't take that challenge," Oliver said. "Because I'm sure, too."

"It would be amusing, though, to see everyone stop dancing and start lining up for a race," Gwen mused, glancing around at the whirling couples.

Oliver's laugh rang out again. Gwen realized that when she'd first met him, he'd hardly ever laughed; he was much more relaxed and open now. It made her wonder in what ways she'd changed this year, too.

There wasn't much time for introspective pondering, however. From Oliver she swirled to Jack, to Van, to Phil (she and her brother always danced well together, no matter how clumsy or stiff they were with other people), to half a dozen boys she didn't know …

By the time Tryg came over to claim his dance, Gwen was flushed with exertion and exhausted. He took one look at her over-bright eyes and red cheeks and shook his head.

"Not that I wouldn't enjoy dancing with you, but would you prefer to sit this one out?"

Gwen gave a little gasp of relief. As wonderful of a time as she was having, her feet were slightly larger than Mother's, and the old slippers were pinching her heels and toes just a bit.

"And maybe step out for some fresh air?" she asked hopefully.

Tryg offered her his arm, a courtly, old-fashioned gesture that seemed more natural to him than it did to any of the other boys, even Jack. "This way, my lady," he said, with his blue eyes twinkling.

They stepped outside, and even without her cloak Gwen found she wasn't too cold. The chill air pulled a little at her bare forearms, but it felt refreshing after the stuffy heat of the hall. With the midwinter moon shining down, surrounded by glittering stars, the snow on the ground almost looked silver instead of dull white.

"What a lovely night," Gwen sighed.

Tryg didn't say anything, but his eyes took on a faraway expression Gwen recognized. She felt it on her own face often enough when a new plot or character suddenly burst into her mind.

"You're wishing you had a sketchpad right now, aren't you?"

Tryg blinked and came back to earth. "How did you know?"

Somehow, Gwen didn't mind telling him her secret. He seemed both trustworthy and understanding. "I write, sometimes."

"Stories?" he asked immediately.

She nodded. "I just started this summer. First it was just little fairy tales, but lately I've been trying my hand at some more serious stories. I'm still not very good at them, but I like writing those even more than the fairy tales." She hesitated, then plunged ahead. "After we picked apples at your uncle's farm, I even tried a Viking story."

"Really? How did it go?"

"Dreadfully," Gwen confessed. "I don't know anything about Vikings. It was really just that picture you had on your desk, the one of the boy and the ship, that made me want to write something to go with it."

He was looking at her with an odd expression. Gwen wondered if she'd said too much, but then he said,

"You may have that picture, if you like. And I can lend you some of my books on Vikings, if you want to try it again."

"Thank you," Gwen said, suddenly shy. "I haven't told anybody else about my writing," she hurried on hastily.

"I understand," Tryg said at once. "I don't like to talk about my art, either. Once you start talking about it, it loses some of its magic."

"Yes, exactly." Gwen was so delighted at finding somebody who understood without explanation, that she found herself abruptly spilling out her dilemma regarding whether she should stay in the Glen to finish her schooling or not.

"The practical part of me says 'stay,'" she concluded. "But my heart wants to break every time I consider it. I just wish someone else would tell me what to do."

"You don't need that," Tryg said with a smile. "You know what to do."

"I do?"

"Of course. You're just letting other things cloud your mind. When it comes down to it, there's only one thing you can do."

"And that is?"

"Oh no, I can't tell you that. Only you can know that." Tryg tried to shove his hands into his pockets, realized he was wearing a dress suit, and instead folded his arms across his chest. "Jack keeps trying to convince me to figure out a way to go to college. But I can't. It would mean abandoning my mother and sister, and turning my back on my uncle. He doesn't understand what education means to us, but he's a good man who took us in when we had nowhere to go. No matter how much I want to go to college, it's just impossible for me to go. Oh, I'm sure there's a physical way—but I can't go. It's not the act of going that can't happen, it's me going that can't." He shrugged. "This probably doesn't make any sense."

"No, it does," Gwen said slowly. Unconsciously, she folded her arms to mimic Tryg's position. "You mean, even though technically I have two options, in the end, because of who I am, I will only have one. There will only be one choice that is possible for me to make."

"Exactly," Tryg said, nodding for emphasis. "And that one choice isn't something anyone else can tell you, because nobody else knows your heart."

The strains of music floating to their ears from inside the hall stopped, and he twisted around to look back inside. "Looks like our dance is over! I hope I haven't spoiled your night with all this philosophical nonsense."

Gwen smiled. "It isn't nonsense, and I think this has been my favourite dance of all."

"Even better than a waltz?" Tryg teased.

"Especially better than a waltz," Gwen said ruefully, thinking of how bruised her poor feet had gotten in her attempt to waltz with Jack.

The conversation with Tryg really was the high point of the night, but it was fun to go back inside and dance more, and then to enjoy the refreshments and talk about the dancing with the other girls, and even more fun to snuggle back into the furry robes as Jack and Oliver took her and Lynde home. Lynde had, to her surprise, had a marvellous time as well, and she conceded that maybe the doctor had been right in insisting she go.

Then it was home, where Grandmother greeted them with shining eyes, a brief goodnight at the door, and then up to her room to put away the princess, and put on her pyjamas and become plain Gwen again.

As she drifted off to sleep, her last thoughts were not of the radiantly good time dancing she had had, nor of the effusive compliments Oliver had paid, but of a common-sense conversation, and blue eyes shining in the starlight.

Gwen had been afraid that the dance would change Oliver even more than the simple asking her to go had—that he would start being even more of a suitor instead of friend. With her feelings so changed, from friend to crush back to friend (with, admittedly, a small amount of romance still intermingled with the friendly feelings), she really did not want to have to deal with any stronger feelings on his part. Mother's letters had been very helpful in studying her own feelings; they had been sadly short on advice on how to gently let down an unwelcome suitor.

To her dismay, he showed up at Ingleside the very afternoon after the dance night. Gwen's heart sank down into the tips of her cosy winter boots when she and Phil came back from a tramp through Rainbow Valley to see, through the kitchen windows, Oliver and Jack sitting with Lynde at the big wooden table.

Phil glanced at his sister's face. "Well, you look pleased."

"Sarcasm, Phil?" Gwen said, her voice equal parts rebuke and surprise.

He shrugged with a sheepish grin. "I must be tired still."

"It's not that I don't like Oliver," Gwen said. "But I just wish he would go back to just being my friend."

"You mean, back to how he acted when you wanted him to fall in love with you?"

Gwen raised her shoulders and dropped them again. She was tired, too. "What can I say? I'm a woman; I'm not supposed to be constant."

Phil snorted. "You know what Mother says about people who hide behind their gender to excuse bad behaviour."

Gwen did, indeed. Most of the people in Glen St. Mary and Kingsport knew Di Blythe's view on gender stereotypes.

"Fine, it's not because I'm a woman. It is simply because I'm foolish. Happy?"

"Cranky, Gwen?" Phil asked, imitating her tone from before.

"Yes," she answered simply.

"Well, you can run up to your bedroom, if you like," he offered generously. "I'll go distract the boys."

"No," Gwen said, though she was sorely tempted. "Oliver's an Owl, I'm going to have to face him sooner or later. Better to just act as though everything is normal now, so that he doesn't get any odd ideas."

"Good for you," Phil said. "After all, we'll be going back home in another month, so any strong feelings he has for you should fade away then—and if not, you'll know he is serious, and maybe you'll want to give him another chance."

Gwen didn't say anything. She hadn't told any of her siblings, not even Phil, about Grandmother and Grandfather's offer. She was afraid of how they would react, and that she might make her decision based on them, instead of reason and logic.

They came into the entryway and tugged off their boots and tossed their coats, hats, scarves, and mittens onto the coatrack. Then they came into Lynde's clean kitchen—and stopped.

Jack was perched on the tabletop, reading aloud from a book of poetry he held in his brown hand. Lynde was sitting below him, hands idle for once, clasped together beneath her chin as she listened intently. Oliver sat in another chair, his face full of suppressed mirth.

"Have you ever seen Lynde just sit and listen to poetry before?" Phil whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

Gwen could only shake her head in disbelief. It appeared that Jack's interest in Lynde had not been limited to last night—and even more shocking, that Lynde, their practical, no-nonsense Lynde, was reciprocating said interest!

"Are there cookies anywhere, Lynde?" Phil asked mildly.

His question served to break the atmosphere. Jack jumped off the table and shoved the book into his pocket. Lynde leaped up as well, her cheeks rosy.

"Cookies—yes—well, no—I was just about to make a batch," she stammered.

"My fault," Jack said. He was not given to blushing, but even his customary aplomb had been temporarily shaken. "I just wanted to give Lynde a poem we were talking about at the dance, and then I thought of another one she might like to hear, and then the next thing I knew I was reading away."

"As usual," Oliver said. Both Jack and Lynde jumped, as though they had forgotten his presence. He grinned. "Have a nice walk?" he asked the Blakes, giving his other two friends a chance to recover.

"It's a grand day," Phil said. "Cold, but everything is white, crisp, and clean."

"I bet it's beautiful down by the harbour," Oliver said. "Care to go see, Gwen?"

"No thanks," she said, trying to affect an air of indifference. "I really shouldn't even have gone for a walk with Phil. With everything happening, between the dance and the new king, I really haven't been working at my schoolwork like I should. I'm going to have to dig in now if I want to get good grades on my midterms."

"Do you want help with anything?" Oliver asked eagerly.

Gwen smiled and shook her head.

"At least stay until Lynde gets her cookies made."

"Sorry," Gwen said, the colour rising in her cheeks in a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance over his persistence. "But I really need to get to it. I'll see you all later," she added, nodding around at everyone. Jack grinned, but Lynde wouldn't meet her eyes.

"I'll bring you up some cookies when they're done," she muttered to her bowl.

"Thanks," said Gwen, and she retreated from the warm kitchen to the relative safety of her bedroom.

Goodness, if Jack and Lynde were now going to be a couple, and Oliver kept pursuing her … (Gwen still felt uncomfortable over her presumption that he was interested, but he was making it more and more difficult to believe anything else) … things were going to be very difficult around here!

Gwen pulled her books toward her and opened them with determination. She was going to think about school, and only school. Let the others do what they wanted; she would not let romance hinder her goals!

She studied faithfully for half an hour or so, and then Lynde interrupted her, tapping on the door and then coming in with a plate of warm cookies and a mug of hot chocolate.

"Since you won't come downstairs to eat with the rest of us," she said, "I brought your snack to you."

"Thanks," Gwen said absently. She had been deep in the throes of Canadian history, and it was only with difficulty that she pulled herself back to 1936. "Are the boys still here?" she asked, taking a cookie from the plate.

"Y—es," Lynde answered hesitantly. She paused again, and then plopped herself down on Aunt Nan's bed. "Gwen, what am I going to do?"

"What do you mean?" Gwen asked, somewhat hypocritically. She knew exactly what Lynde meant, but she wanted a few moments to think how to best answer her.

"About Jack!"

"Do you like him?" Gwen decided blunt honesty was the best course with Lynde.

Lynde looked down at her clasped hands and rubbed her thumbs together. "I do—but I shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because," Lynde said.

"Because why?" Gwen couldn't understand why her friend was being so shy.

Lynde looked up, and exasperation and frustration were mingled in her expression. "Because he is Jack Blythe, son of Dr. and Mrs. Blythe, grandson to Dr. Blythe, and Rev. Meredith, and I am nothing but his grandparents' hired girl."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Gwen exclaimed. "Is that what's bothering you? Lynde, I've never heard such nonsense. Your great-grandmother Lynde was well-established and respected in Avonlea back when my grandmother was just an orphan taken on by the Cuthberts, and Grandfather was terrorizing the Avonlea schoolgirls. In fact, your great-grandmother had much to do in helping to raise Grandmother, so you could say that without your family, ours wouldn't have turned out the way it did."

"Maybe from one point of view," Lynde admitted, "but from the point of view here in the Glen, Jack is only slightly less important than the Prime Minister of Canada, and I just—cook and clean."

Gwen rose from her chair. She crossed the room to sit down next to her friend, putting her arm around Lynde's shoulder. "Darling, if Jack doesn't care about that, why should you?"

"But what if—what if his parents care? Or your grandparents? They like me well enough now, but if they think I have designs on Jack …"

She did have a point, though Gwen hated to admit it. Jack was the darling of the clan, and Aunt Faith and Uncle Jem in particular thought no one was good enough for their son.

"I don't want to have to leave here and go back to my family," Lynde continued. "But the Blythes won't keep me on if they're worried about me stealing Jack's heart."

"Jack is sixteen, and you are fifteen," Gwen said. "I don't think they're going to be too worried about you suddenly eloping. If they were that worried, they wouldn't have taken you on in the first place. Anyone with an ounce of sense might have suspected that the two of you would end up falling for each other, since you see each other every day and Jack spends so much time here."

"That's true," Lynde conceded, the little worry wrinkle in her forehead starting to smooth out.

"And," Gwen continued, "If they have anything more than an ounce of sense, they'll understand that you are a wonderful person, and that Jack would be lucky to win your heart."

"I wouldn't go that far," Lynde said, but Gwen only laughed and gave her a hug.

"Go back downstairs, Lynde, before Jack comes up here and invades my room demanding to see you."

Lynde smoothed out her apron and stood up. She turned back once right before leaving the room.

"And what about you and Oliver?"

Gwen barely managed to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "There is no 'me and Oliver,' Lynde. We're just friends."

"Not if he has anything to say about it," Lynde said shrewdly.

"Well, it is if I have any say in it," Gwen countered determinedly.

Lynde shook her head as she went out into the hall. "It's not that easy, Gwen …"