The March sky was pure gray, like her everchanging eyes. The Redmond football field, where every fall there were football games attended by almost the entire campus, was partially thawed, a figure dressed in Redmond's colors was running there in the rising light of the morning. Sweat had darkened Gilbert's shirt and straightened the curls at his temples. Determined to run two more laps, even though his calves ached, for years earlier on the Alberta prairies, Gilbert had noticed that intense physical exertion made him focus better.

Twenty minutes later, Gilbert stepped into a corner of the library traditionally reserved for Cooper Prize hopefuls. His rivals were already there. As he walked between the shelves, he remembered Christine's somewhat surprising words, "Gil, the Cooper Prize is a universal prize and one of the reasons why it is so difficult to achieve is because of its scope. It is not given, it is taken, preyed upon, grades, essays, and social situations also mean in the minds of the judging panel, though it is not often talked about. So here is an invitation to an exhibition of rococo paintings, you will come with me, as my devoted companion of the Arts. Think of it as a kind of education, all those enchanting, light Watteaus, an almost sensual experience. And there is also a curtained-off room where women is barred. Some silly gentlemen-only occasion, where surely too sweet punch or brandy is served, and businessmen in their waxed mustaches look at odalisk paintings, or something like that. Rumors are always going around."

Gilbert took two books from the shelf and nodded slightly to Gibson who whispered, "Blythe, is this library too modest for you. Does everything have to be Bluenose standard for you these days?" Gilbert refused to be goaded. He only smiled kindly, politely, and said, impishly, "Have a pleasant day, Gibson. Remember this time not to eat smoked herring if it is served at lunch. The smell sticks to the library books, and it is not pleasant to anyone, not to the books, not to the others who are in your company."

Gibson slammed his book shut in a frenzy, so that the wateryblond somewhat graying, librarian glanced over her monocle, censoriously. That look reminded Gilbert of Marilla Cuthbert, it was harsh, but underneath there was a slight hint of humor, carefully hidden. On purpose, Gilbert walked past the librarian's desk Gilbert politely raised his hat, as he murmured, "Miss Lindley."

The only answer was a light snort, and a paper bag rustled as narrow, dried fingers without rings held out a small paper bag of striped mints. Miss Lindley, said in a matter-of-fact tone, "Mr. Blythe, take a few mints, to keep up your strength."

With the sweet taste of mint on his tongue, Gilbert sat down between the shelves of the Musicology section and opened his books and notebooks and delved into the world of chemical and physical formulas and mathematical formulas. In the distance, along the shiny corridors, one could hear at regular intervals, either the playing of the piano, or the sultry, stirring sound of the cello, or sometimes even glimmering stratospheric singing, scales that sparkled like a distant shower of stars.

About eight or maybe nine hours later, Gilbert looked up as he smelled now familiar scent of rose water. Christine leaned on the opposite table, and looked at him calmly, a little appraisingly. Gilbert felt for a moment like he was a prize bull at the Avonlea Country Show, but then Christine smiled and that feeling went away. Gilbert squared his shoulders, and said, "Will I do? Where exactly is this exhibition located may I ask?"

Christine, glanced around, but the shelves were silent. Only the shadows moved. She slipped a small note from her handbag into Gilbert's hand. Intrigued against his will, Gilbert remarked, "Secrets, then. I think tonight might turn out to be an adventure."

The exhibition space was not as glitteringly extravagant as Gilbert had assumed. In the great room, the shiny parquet floor reflected distorted images, and dark red velvet curtains covered the windows. The paintings were indeed as beautiful as Christine had promised.

Suddenly Gilbert's attention sharpened as a familiar, girlish voice said, "Oh, Roy, what a lovely birthday surprise this is. These paintings are like a glimpse of fairyland, like a pretty pink dream from which you'll never wake up."

Gilbert turned and saw Anne. Her red hair shone, a few raindrops had been left to glisten among those captivating tresses, and her large eyes seemed particularly radiant, as whenever she encountered something pleasant, or something that tickled the imagination. There was a light flush on her skin, which deepened a little, as Royal leaned closer, and said something in a low voice, into her ear.

Gilbert turned and walked quickly away. Christine gently touched Gilbert's arm as she said carefully, "Is everything alright, you look pale. I noticed that the delightful Royal Gardner is here with his red haired companion. You might want to come say hello, as I understand you know each other, at least that's what I heard."

Mutely Gilbert shook his head, as the enchantment of the paintings was broken, for him.

He noticed that Christine sighed a little sharply as she said, "Alright. There are two more paintings I want to show you, they're in the other room, come on."

Anne experienced a sweet, almost painful vibration in her soul, as Royal carefully escorted her through the showroom. Each painting was so rich, like an enchanting jewel, full of the joy of the past life, and lightness, but also a creeping erotic lushness. Roy's comments were insightful and Anne found herself enjoying the evening. Earlier when Roy had come to pick her up from Pattys Place, Pihl, Stella and Pris had all held back their smiles, as Royal had handed Anne a beautiful posy of violets, and a little sonnet, and said, "My red-haired queen, the poor words I have written do not at all describe your magnificence, so that's why I have a surprise I think you'll like."

Suddenly Anne heard a familiar mellow baritone say, "Dr. Thibauld it was an honor to meet you here. I have read your articles and one of my goals is, God willing, in the future I would do a similar job as you."

Anne saw Gilbert in a smart suit, with a perfect collar, and did he even have cufflinks that glinted in the light, as he stood before the dark burgundy velvet window curtain, as a tall, stooping stork-like man, with graying hair, and dark strained eyes, looked at Gilbert with interest, as he just radiated charisma and genuine enthusiasm, as he always did when something was really important to him. And next to Gilbert, a few paces away, was her, Christine, in a pale purple dress that matched her eyes perfectly. Christine looked up and nodded at someone.

Anne felt that suddenly she couldn't breathe, because it was as if she had seen the future, in that one instant. Gilbert would be successful, and all doors would be open to him, with Christine by his side, like a shadow.

Royal's worried voice said, "Oh, Anne, you're so pale. Let's go for a walk in the fresh air. Nature will put roses on your cheeks, again." With shaky legs and a stiff smile, Anne followed Royal.

They walked through the parks of Redmond, and Anne found herself listening to Royal's almost uninterrupted monologue with mild impatience, about his family duties, his late father's will that had finally been settled, and how his older sister had just returned from finishing school in Paris. But then Royal said, "The delightful Christine Stuart was in that show. She's quite a captivating girl. That Blythe chap, is very lucky that he has landed her, but not half as happy as I am right now, because today is the day you were born into the world. I've been thinking a lot lately about that moment, when we met, in glazebo with the torrential rain raging. It was fate, I'm sure of it. I know you are worried about my family as you have shared your background but I am sure there is no worry. Your sense of purpose and vivacity will win everyone over, because you are lovable. And we all have gray moments, yours started little earlier than most, that is all. Life as a Garder is not always champagne and roses, although it may seem that way. The pressures are intense."

Anne glanced seriously at Roy, and unknowingly her gray-green eyes flashed as she replied, "Roy. It is true that I am an orphan and a former home child, as I told you, but my life in my beloved Green Gable these seven years since I arrived there has been one of opportunities and a celebration of potential. I experienced deep, steadfast, and loyal love there. I've fought my way here, so if you're imagining some Jane Eyre image in your mind, I'm asking you to stop right now."

Roy felt his heart beating fast as he listened to the strong passionate words that flowed from Anne's lips, as she advocated her own right to live on her own terms, without romantic, poetic similes. With a sudden gesture, Roy knelt down amid the snow and early crocuses, as he pressed a light kiss to Anne's gloved hand, as he declared, with his melancholy eyes, whose effect on women he keenly felt, "Oh, Anne, you are wonderful!"

Two days later, Anne sat on the windowsill of her blue room, and looked out onto Spofford Avenue. She felt indecisive, and to get over that feeling, Anne read Roy's sonnet, it was quite exemplary, all octavian terzes, almost magazine verse.

Phil stood in the doorway of Anne's room as she remarked, "Honey, what's the matter? You should look like you've got yourself a moon, but instead you seem a bit blue. Did Roy copy a sonnet out of a book? Anne, rumor has it that there are some wicked parties, sometimes, somewhere in Redmond. Oh, how exciting that would be. But you know, nowadays in the evenings I like to read Jo's letter, more than if I were the center of a party, any party. Isn't it strange?" Anne, forced herself to laugh, but she herself felt that her laugh was hollow, without the usual sparkle.

One pale, bright evening in April, Gilbert knocked on the door of an apartment, a certain series of knocks. A creaking door opened into a low hallway that was dark. The great hall was filled with shadowy figures, most wearing masks but not all. Gilbert recognized several members of the Redmond football team, and not a few Lambs, too. And in the midst of them Claire Hallet, in her vivid reds, as ever, and by her side Christine Stuart, not in deep shimmering blue silk, as usual, but in white, surprisingly open thin muslin, with star-like pins arranged in her hair that sparkled. In this dim lighting, Gilbert, intoxicated by the noise and the sweet, sharp punch, he realized that Christine slightly resembled Diana, and because of that realization, and in honor of his childhood friend's upcoming wedding, he drank another glass and said, "Christine, a word, if I may."

There was a greenish divan in a small corner, Christine glanced questioningly at Gilbert as he said hoarsely, "I think this punch has been spiked."

Mildly taken aback, Gilbert noticed that Christine began to laugh softly as she said, "Well of course it is. The purpose of this evening is to relax those present. I know you don't usually drink, but give it a try." A challenging glint lit up Gilbert's eyes as one Lamb called out to him, "Blythe, there's a bet here, will you come along."

The rest of the evening was a jumble of colors, crowds and varying jubilant moods. A couple of hours later, Gilbert stumbled, quite literally to Claire Hallett, and Christine, who were quite artfully draped all over each other. Claire's cheeks were wet with tears, and Christine murmured, something in a low voice, to her. Feeling unsettled of this unexpected sacrocant feminine intimacy, Gilbert turned, but Christine looked up, and gave Gilbert a light nod, as if to say that everything was under control.

Light rain pattered on the roof as Gilbert leaned against the window. Down below, the streets of Kingsport were quiet, and then next to him was Christine's reflection. Her hair had started to unravel, and there were deep shadows under her eyes.

Carefully, in a gentlemanly manner, Gilbert escorted Christine to the narrow divan. Christine turned, and looked at Gilbert, weighing, cuttingly, as she remarked, "Quite a night, isn't it? You're such a gentleman, thousands would have taken advantage of the situation by now, but you didn't. Strange indeed, but also comforting."

Gilbert, brushing the curls that had settled on his forehead out of his eyes, as he replied, "I keep my word, as always."

Christine smiled lightly as she replied, "I think if Andrew ever gets to meet you he'll like you a lot. He's easily impressed though, but then again you could charm even birds if you really wanted I think. "

There was a slight rustle from the large canopy bed as Claire Hallet threw a large pillow on the floor and muttered, "Gil and Christine stop talking. I'm trying to sleep here. You two should do that as well, either here or somewhere else."

A/N To guest who requested that I continue this narrative. I'll give it a try. Let's see what kind of adventure this turns out to be. I hope the Muses are generous.