Page:Anne's house of dreams (1920 Canada).djvu/195

 And I realised just what your friendship had come to mean to me—just what you meant—and just what a hateful little beast I had been.”

“Leslie! Leslie! I never allow anyone to call my friends names.”

“It’s true. That’s exactly what I am—a hateful little beast. There’s something I’ve got to tell you, Anne. I suppose it will make you despise me, but I must confess it. Anne, there have been times this past winter and spring when I have hated you.”

“I knew it,” said Anne calmly.

“You knew it?”

“Yes, I saw it in your eyes.”

“ And yet you went on liking me and being my friend.”

“Well, it was only now and then you hated me, Leslie. Between times you loved me, I think.”

“I certainly did. But that other horrid feeling was always there, spoiling it, back in my heart. I kept it down—sometimes I forgot it—but sometimes it would surge up and take possession of me. I hated you because I envied you—oh, I was sick with envy of you at times. You had a dear little home—and love—and happiness—and glad dreams—everything I wanted—and never had—and never could have. Oh, never could have! That was what stung. I wouldn’t have envied you, if I had had any hope that life would ever be different for me. But I hadn’t—I hadn’t—and it didn’t seem fair. It made me re-