Matthew recollected that he must say what he had come to say without loss of time, lest Marilla return prematurely. “Well now, Anne, don’t you think you’d better do it and have it over with?” he whispered. “It’ll have to be done sooner or later, you know, for Marilla’s a dreadful determined woman—dreadful determined, Anne. Do it right off, I say, and have it over.”
“Do you mean apologize to Mrs. Lynde?”
“Yes—apologize—that’s the very word,” said Matthew eagerly. “Just smooth it over so to speak. That’s what I was trying to get at.”
“I suppose I could do it to oblige you,” said Anne thoughtfully. “It would be true enough to say I am sorry, because I am sorry now. I wasn’t a bit sorry last night. I was mad clear through, and I stayed mad all night. I know I did because I woke up three times and I was just furious every time. But this morning it was over. I wasn’t in a temper anymore—and it left a dreadful sort of goneness, too. I felt so ashamed of myself. But I just couldn’t think of going and telling Mrs. Lynde so. It would be so humiliating. I made up my mind I’d stay shut up here forever rather than do that. But still—I’d do anything for you—if you really want me to—”
“Well now, of course I do. It’s terrible lonesome downstairs without you. Just go and smooth things over—that’s a good girl.”