"Oh, but there's such a difference between saying a
thing yourself and hearing other people say it," wailed
Anne. "You may know a thing is so, but you can't help
hoping other people don't quite think it is. I suppose you
think I have an awful temper, but I couldn't help it.
When she said those things something just rose right up in
me and choked me. I HAD to fly out at her."

"Well, you made a fine exhibition of yourself I must say.
Mrs. Lynde will have a nice story to tell about you
everywhere--and she'll tell it, too. It was a dreadful thing
for you to lose your temper like that, Anne."

"Just imagine how you would feel if somebody told you to your
face that you were skinny and ugly," pleaded Anne tearfully.

An old remembrance suddenly rose up before Marilla.
She had been a very small child when she had heard one
aunt say of her to another, "What a pity she is such a dark,
homely little thing." Marilla was every day of fifty before
the sting had gone out of that memory.

"I don't say that I think Mrs. Lynde was exactly right in
saying what she did to you, Anne," she admitted in a softer
tone. "Rachel is too outspoken. But that is no excuse for
such behavior on your part. She was a stranger and an
elderly person and my visitor--all three very good reasons
why you should have been respectful to her. You were
rude and saucy and"--Marilla had a saving inspiration of
punishment--"you must go to her and tell her you are