But as,
“The Caesar’s pageant shorn of Brutus’ bust Did but of Rome’s best son remind her more,”
so the marked absence of any tribute or recognition from Diana Barry, who was sitting with Gertie Pye, embittered Anne’s little triumph.
“Diana might just have smiled at me once, I think,” she mourned to Marilla that night. But the next morning a note, most fearfully and wonderfully twisted and folded, and a small parcel, were passed across to Anne.
“Dear Anne,” ran the former, “Mother says I’m not to play with you or talk to you even in school. It isn’t my fault and don’t be cross at me, because I love you as much as ever. I miss you awfully to tell all my secrets to and I don’t like Gertie Pye one bit. I made you one of the new bookmarkers out of red tissue paper. They are awfully fashionable now and only three girls in school know how to make them. When you look at it remember
Anne read the note, kissed the bookmark, and despatched a prompt reply back to the other side of the school.
“My own darling Diana:—
“Of course I am not cross at you because you have to obey your mother. Our spirits can comune. I shall keep your lovely present forever. Minnie Andrews is a very nice little girl—although she has no imagination—but after having been Diana’s busum friend I cannot be Minnie’s. Please excuse mistakes because my spelling isn’t very good yet, although much improoved.