Whatever he was , he soon disappeared in congenial gloom and Gilbert turned to the cheerier view indoors . The firelight flickered from point to point , gleaming on the white and green coats of Gog and Magog , on the sleek , brown head of the beautiful setter basking on the rug , on the picture frames on the walls , on the vaseful of daffodils from the window garden , on Anne herself , sitting by her little table , with her sewing beside her and her hands clasped over her knee while she traced out pictures in the fire -- Castles in Spain whose airy turrets pierced moonlit cloud and sunset bar-ships sailing from the Haven of Good Hopes straight to Four Winds Harbor with precious burthen . For Anne was again a dreamer of dreams , albeit a grim shape of fear went with her night and day to shadow and darken her visions . Gilbert was accustomed to refer to himself as `` an old married man . '' But he still looked upon Anne with the incredulous eyes of a lover . He could n't wholly believe yet that she was really his . It MIGHT be only a dream after all , part and parcel of this magic house of dreams . His soul still went on tip-toe before her , lest the charm be shattered and the dream dispelled . `` Anne , '' he said slowly , `` lend me your ears . I want to talk with you about something . '' Anne looked across at him through the fire-lit gloom . `` What is it ? '' she asked gaily . `` You look fearfully solemn , Gilbert . I really have n't done anything naughty today . Ask Susan . '' `` It 's not of you -- or ourselves -- I want to talk . It 's about Dick Moore . '' `` Dick Moore ? '' echoed Anne , sitting up alertly .
`` Why , what XXXXX the world have you to say about Dick Moore ? ''
For Harbor about after albeit in of that to vaseful