But Matthew was gone, scared at his own success. He fled
hastily to the remotest corner of the horse pasture lest
Marilla should suspect what he had been up to. Marilla herself,
upon her return to the house, was agreeably surprised to hear a
plaintive voice calling, "Marilla" over the banisters.

"Well?" she said, going into the hall.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper and said rude things, and
I'm willing to go and tell Mrs. Lynde so."

"Very well." Marilla's crispness gave no sign of her
relief. She had been wondering what under the canopy she
should do if Anne did not give in. "I'll take you down
after milking."

Accordingly, after milking, behold Marilla and Anne
walking down the lane, the former erect and triumphant,
the latter drooping and dejected. But halfway down Anne's
dejection vanished as if by enchantment. She lifted her
head and stepped lightly along, her eyes fixed on the
sunset sky and an air of subdued exhilaration about her.
Marilla beheld the change disapprovingly. This was no
meek penitent such as it behooved her to take into the
presence of the offended Mrs. Lynde.

"What are you thinking of, Anne?" she asked sharply.

"I'm imagining out what I must say to Mrs. Lynde,"