They loitered through it in a pleasant chummy silence , neither caring to talk . `` If Gilbert were always as he has been this evening how nice and simple everything would be , '' reflected Anne . Gilbert was looking at Anne , as she walked along . In her light dress , with her slender delicacy , she made him think of a white iris . `` I wonder if I can ever make her care for me , '' he thought , with a pang of self-distrust . Chapter III Greeting and Farewell Charlie Sloane , Gilbert Blythe and Anne Shirley left Avonlea the following Monday morning . Anne had hoped for a fine day . Diana was to drive her to the station and they wanted this , their last drive together for some time , to be a pleasant one . But when Anne went to bed Sunday night the east wind was moaning around Green Gables with an ominous prophecy which was fulfilled in the morning . Anne awoke to find raindrops pattering against her window and shadowing the pond 's gray surface with widening rings ; hills and sea were hidden in mist , and the whole world seemed dim and dreary . Anne dressed in the cheerless gray dawn , for an early start was necessary to catch the boat train ; she struggled against the tears that WOULD well up in her eyes in spite of herself . She was leaving the home that was so dear to her , and something told her that she was leaving it forever , save as a holiday refuge . Things would never be the same again ; coming back for vacations would not be living there . And oh , how dear and beloved everything was -- that little white porch room , sacred to the dreams of girlhood , the old Snow Queen at the window , the brook in the hollow , the Dryad 's Bubble , the Haunted Woods , and Lover 's Lane -- all the thousand and one dear spots where memories of the old years bided . Could she ever be really happy anywhere else ? Breakfast at Green Gables that morning was a rather doleful meal . Davy , for the first time in his life probably , could not eat , but blubbered shamelessly over his porridge . Nobody else seemed to have much appetite , save Dora , who tucked away her rations comfortably . Dora , like the immortal and most prudent Charlotte , who `` went on cutting bread and butter '' when her frenzied lover 's body had been carried past on a shutter , was one of those fortunate creatures who are seldom disturbed by anything . Even at eight it took a great deal to ruffle Dora 's placidity .
She was sorry Anne was going away , of course , but was that any reason why she should fail to appreciate a poached egg XXXXX toast ?
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