ess drew
her with an irresistible fascination. She had never known anyone like
her; her friends had hitherto been wholesome, normal, merry girls like
herself, with only the average trials of human care and bereavement to
shadow their girlish dreams. Leslie Moore stood apart, a tragic,
appealing figure of thwarted womanhood. Anne resolved that she would
win entrance into the kingdom of that lonely soul and find there the
comradeship it could so richly give, were it not for the cruel fetters
that held it in a prison not of its own making.

"And mind you this, Anne, dearie," said Miss Cornelia, who had not yet
wholly relieved her mind, "You mustn't think Leslie is an infidel
because she hardly ever goes to church--or even that she's a Methodist.
She can't take Dick to church, of course--not that he ever troubled
church much in his best days. But you just remember that she's a real
strong Presbyterian at heart, Anne, dearie."

CHAPTER 12

LESLIE COMES OVER

Leslie came over to the house of dreams one frosty October night, when
moonlit mists were hanging over the harbor and curling like silver
ribbons along the seaward glens. She looked as if she repented coming
when Gilbert answered her knock; but Anne flew past him, pounced on
her, and drew her in.

"I'm so glad you picked tonight for a call," she said gaily. "I made
up a lot of extra good fudge this afternoon and we want someone to help
us eat it--before the fire--while we tell stories. Perhaps Captain Jim
will drop in, too. This is his night."

"No. Captain Jim is over home," said Leslie. "He--he made me come
here," she added, half defiantly.

"I'll say a thank-you to him for that when I see him," said Anne,
pulling easy chairs before the fire.

"Oh, I don't mean that I didn't want to come," protested Leslie,
flushing a little. "I--I've been thinking of coming--but it isn't
always easy for me to get away."

"Of course it must be hard for you to leave Mr. Moore," said Anne, in a
matter-of-fact tone. She had decided that it would be best to mention
Dick Moore occasionally as an accepted fact, and not give undue
morbidness to the subject by avoiding it. She was right, for Leslie's
air of constraint suddenly vanished. Evidently she had been wondering
how much Anne knew of the conditions of her life and was relieved that
no explanations were needed. She allowed her cap and jacket to be
taken, and sat down with a girlish snuggle in the big armcha