The rose of love made the blossom of friendship pale and scentless by contrast . And Anne had again begun to doubt if Gilbert now felt anything for her but friendship . In the common light of common day her radiant certainty of that rapt morning had faded . She was haunted by a miserable fear that her mistake could never be rectified . It was quite likely that it was Christine whom Gilbert loved after all . Perhaps he was even engaged to her . Anne tried to put all unsettling hopes out of her heart , and reconcile herself to a future where work and ambition must take the place of love . She could do good , if not noble , work as a teacher ; and the success her little sketches were beginning to meet with in certain editorial sanctums augured well for her budding literary dreams . But -- but -- Anne picked up her green dress and sighed again . When Gilbert came the next afternoon he found Anne waiting for him , fresh as the dawn and fair as a star , after all the gaiety of the preceding night . She wore a green dress -- not the one she had worn to the wedding , but an old one which Gilbert had told her at a Redmond reception he liked especially . It was just the shade of green that brought out the rich tints of her hair , and the starry gray of her eyes and the iris-like delicacy of her skin . Gilbert , glancing at her sideways as they walked along a shadowy woodpath , thought she had never looked so lovely . Anne , glancing sideways at Gilbert , now and then , thought how much older he looked since his illness . It was as if he had put boyhood behind him forever . The day was beautiful and the way was beautiful . Anne was almost sorry when they reached Hester Gray 's garden , and sat down on the old bench . But it was beautiful there , too -- as beautiful as it had been on the faraway day of the Golden Picnic , when Diana and Jane and Priscilla and she had found it . Then it had been lovely with narcissus and violets ; now golden rod had kindled its fairy torches in the corners and asters dotted it bluely . The call of the brook came up through the woods from the valley of birches with all its old allurement ; the mellow air was full of the purr of the sea ; beyond were fields rimmed by fences bleached silvery gray in the suns of many summers , and long hills scarfed with the shadows of autumnal clouds ; with the blowing of the west wind old dreams returned .
`` I think , '' said XXXXX softly , `` that ` the land where dreams come true ' is in the blue haze yonder , over that little valley . ''
Anne Christine Gilbert Gray Jane Priscilla day morning night sanctums