`` Come in . And this is the little girl you have adopted , I suppose ? '' `` Yes , this is Anne Shirley , '' said Marilla . `` Spelled with an E , '' gasped Anne , who , tremulous and excited as she was , was determined there should be no misunderstanding on that important point . Mrs. Barry , not hearing or not comprehending , merely shook hands and said kindly : `` How are you ? '' `` I am well in body although considerable rumpled up in spirit , thank you ma'am , '' said Anne gravely . Then aside to Marilla in an audible whisper , `` There was n't anything startling in that , was there , Marilla ? '' Diana was sitting on the sofa , reading a book which she dropped when the callers entered . She was a very pretty little girl , with her mother 's black eyes and hair , and rosy cheeks , and the merry expression which was her inheritance from her father . `` This is my little girl Diana , '' said Mrs. Barry . `` Diana , you might take Anne out into the garden and show her your flowers . It will be better for you than straining your eyes over that book . She reads entirely too much -- '' this to Marilla as the little girls went out -- `` and I ca n't prevent her , for her father aids and abets her . She 's always poring over a book . I 'm glad she has the prospect of a playmate -- perhaps it will take her more out-of-doors . '' Outside in the garden , which was full of mellow sunset light streaming through the dark old firs to the west of it , stood Anne and Diana , gazing bashfully at each other over a clump of gorgeous tiger lilies . The Barry garden was a bowery wilderness of flowers which would have delighted Anne 's heart at any time less fraught with destiny . It was encircled by huge old willows and tall firs , beneath which flourished flowers that loved the shade . Prim , right-angled paths neatly bordered with clamshells , intersected it like moist red ribbons and in the beds between old-fashioned flowers ran riot . There were rosy bleeding-hearts and great splendid crimson peonies ; white , fragrant narcissi and thorny , sweet Scotch roses ; pink and blue and white columbines and lilac-tinted Bouncing Bets ; clumps of southernwood and ribbon grass and mint ; purple Adam-and-Eve , daffodils , and masses of sweet clover white with its delicate , fragrant , feathery sprays ; scarlet lightning that shot its fiery lances over prim white musk-flowers ; a garden it was where sunshine lingered and bees hummed , and winds , beguiled into loitering , purred and rustled .
`` Oh , Diana , '' said Anne XXXXX last , clasping her hands and speaking almost in a whisper , `` oh , do you think you can like me a little -- enough to be my bosom friend ? ''
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