"Dear Aunt, how amusing of you," I said, smoothly. "You talk as
if I wanted Max."
"So you do," said Aunt Cynthia.
"If so, why should I have refused him time and again?" I asked,
smilingly. Right well Aunt Cynthia knew I had. Max always told
her.
"Goodness alone knows why," said Aunt Cynthia, "but you may do it
once too often and find yourself taken at your word. There is
something very fascinating about this Anne Shirley."
"Indeed there is," I assented. "She has the loveliest eyes I
ever saw. She would be just the wife for Max, and I hope he will
marry her."
"Humph," said Aunt Cynthia. "Well, I won't entice you into
telling any more fibs. And I didn't drive out here to-day in all
this wind to talk sense into you concerning Max. I'm going to
Halifax for two months and I want you to take charge of Fatima
for me, while I am away."
"Fatima!" I exclaimed.
"Yes. I don't dare to trust her with the servants. Mind you
always warm her milk before you give it to her, and don't on any
account let her run out of doors."
I looked at Ismay and Ismay looked at me. We knew we were in for
it. To refuse would mortally offend Aunt Cynthia. Besides, if I
betrayed any unwillingness, Aunt Cynthia would be sure to put it
down to grumpiness over what she had said about Max, and rub it
in for years. But I ventured to ask, "What if anything happens
to her while you are away?"
"It is to prevent that, I'm leaving her with you," said Aunt
Cynthia.
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