blushing

Anne, stepping back to her seat, blushing with shyness and delight, found her hand vigorously clasped and shaken by the stout lady in pink silk.

Smiling, blushing, limpid eyed, Anne tripped back and gave a quaint, funny little selection that captivated her audience still further.

“Gilbert Blythe,” answered Anne, vexed to find herself blushing.

“Forgive me!” cried Edmond, blushing deeply.