“There’s nothing romantic about a childish race and a bloody handkerchief, Diana,” Anne says obstinately, and vows to throw the handkerchief out later to prove it. It is pure accident that Marilla happens to get the stain out. (Marilla has an unparalleled knack for getting stains out.) And if Anne folds it – maybe a little more carefully than one tends to fold handkerchiefs, the corners pressed gently together, overlapped like a kiss – and tucks it away in her dresser, well, then, it’s purely practical. One can never have too many handkerchiefs.
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What a perfect ending!