stain was merely a tiny grass smear and that the gap was equally tiny
where a hook had pulled loose. Irene Howard fastened it up for her and
gave her some over-sweet, condescending compliments. Rilla felt
flattered by Irene's condescension. She was an Upper Glen girl of
nineteen who seemed to like the society of the younger girls--spiteful
friends said because she could queen it over them without rivalry. But
Rilla thought Irene quite wonderful and loved her for her patronage.
Irene was pretty and stylish; she sang divinely and spent every winter
in Charlottetown taking music lessons. She had an aunt in Montreal who
sent her wonderful things to wear; she was reported to have had a sad
love affair--nobody knew just what, but its very mystery allured. Rilla
felt that Irene's compliments crowned her evening. She ran gaily back to
the pavilion and lingered for a moment in the glow of the lanterns at
the entrance looking at the dancers. A momentary break in the whirling
throng gave her a glimpse of Kenneth Ford standing at the other side.

Rilla's heart skipped a beat--or, if that be a physiological
impossibility, she thought it did. So he was here, after all. She had
concluded he was not coming--not that it mattered in the least. Would
he see her? Would he take any notice of her? Of course, he wouldn't ask
her to dance--that couldn't be hoped for. He thought her just a mere
child. He had called her "Spider" not three weeks ago when he had been
at Ingleside one evening. She had cried about it upstairs afterwards and
hated him. But her heart skipped a beat when she saw that he was edging
his way round the side of the pavilion towards her. Was he coming to her
--was he?--was he?--yes, he was! He was looking for her--he was here
beside her--he was gazing down at her with something in his dark grey
eyes that Rilla had never seen in them. Oh, it was almost too much to
bear! and everything was going on as before--the dancers were spinning
round, the boys who couldn't get partners were hanging about the