Midway between table and bed was the window, with an icy white muslin frill over it, and opposite it was the wash-stand.

The whole apartment was of a rigidity not to be described in words, but which sent a shiver to the very marrow of Anne's bones.

With a sob she hastily discarded her garments, put on the skimpy nightgown and sprang into bed where she burrowed face downward into the pillow and pulled the clothes over her head.

When Marilla came up for the light various skimpy articles of raiment scattered most untidily over the floor and a certain tempestuous appearance of the bed were the only indications of any presence save her own.
She deliberately picked up Anne's clothes, placed them neatly on a prim yellow chair, and then, taking up the candle, went over to the bed.
"Good night," she said, a little awkwardly, but not unkindly.
Anne's white face and big eyes appeared over the bedclothes with a startling suddenness.
"How can you call it a GOOD night when you know it must be the very worst night I've ever had ?" she said reproachfully.
Then she dived down into invisibility again.
Marilla went slowly down to the kitchen and proceeded to wash the supper dishes.

Matthew was smoking--a sure sign of perturbation of mind.