Marilla was sitting on the front door-steps and Anne sat down beside her.

The door was open behind them, held back by a big pink conch shell with hints of sea sunsets in its smooth inner convolutions.
Anne gathered some sprays of pale-yellow honeysuckle and put them in her hair.

She liked the delicious hint of fragrance, as some aerial benediction, above her every time she moved.
"Doctor Spencer was here while you were away," Marilla said.

"He says that the specialist will be in town tomorrow and he insists that I must go in and have my eyes examined.

I suppose I'd better go and have it over.