Cecil Fenwick didn't go away. He stayed right on in Avonlea, and
the Maxwells blossomed out socially in his honor and tried to
give him a good time. Mrs. Maxwell gave a party for him. I got
a card--but you may be very sure I didn't go, although Nancy
thought I was crazy not to. Then every one else gave parties in
honor of Mr. Fenwick and I was invited and never went.
Wilhelmina Mercer came and pleaded and scolded and told me if I
avoided Mr. Fenwick like that he would think I still cherished
bitterness against him, and he wouldn't make any advances towards
a reconciliation. Wilhelmina means well, but she hasn't a great
deal of sense.

Cecil Fenwick seemed to be a great favorite with everybody, young
and old. He was very rich, too, and Wilhelmina declared that
half the girls were after him.

"If it wasn't for you, Miss Holmes, I believe I'd have a try for
him myself, in spite of his gray hair and quick temper--for Mrs.
Maxwell says he has a pretty quick temper, but it's all over in a
minute," said Wilhelmina, half in jest and wholly in earnest.

As for me, I gave up going out at all, even to church. I fretted
and pined and lost my appetite and never wrote a line in my blank
book. Nancy was half frantic and insisted on dosing me with her
favorite patent pills. I took them meekly, because it is a waste
of time and energy to oppose Nancy, but, of course, they didn't
do me any good. My trouble was too deep-seated for pills to
cure. If ever a woman was punished for telling a lie I was that
woman. I stopped my subscription to the _Weekly Advocate_
because it still carried that wretched porous plaster