Jo won’t, Beth can’t yet, so I shall, and make everything okay all round.  I wouldn’t marry a man I hated or despised.  You may be sure of that, and though Fred is not my model hero, he does very well, and in time I should get fond enough of him if he was very fond of me, and let me do just as I liked.  So I’ve been turning the matter over in my mind the last week, for it was impossible to help seeing that Fred liked me.  He said nothing, but little things showed it.  He never goes with Flo, always gets on my side of the carriage, table, or promenade, looks sentimental when we are alone, and frowns at anyone else who ventures to speak to me.  Yesterday at dinner, when an Austrian officer stared at us and then said something to his friend, a rakish-looking baron, about ’ein wonderschones Blondchen’, Fred looked as fierce as a lion, and cut his meat so savagely it nearly flew off his plate.  He isn’t one of the cool, stiff Englishmen, but is rather peppery, for he has Scotch blood in him, as one might guess from his bonnie blue eyes.

Well, last evening we went up to the castle about sunset, at least all of us but Fred, who was to meet us there after going to the Post Restante for letters.  We had a charming time poking about the ruins, the vaults where the monster tun is, and the beautiful gardens made by the elector long ago for his English wife.  I liked the great terrace best, for the view was divine, so while the rest went to see the rooms inside, I sat there trying to sketch the gray stone lion’s head on the wall, with scarlet woodbine sprays hanging round it.  I felt as if I’d got into a romance, sitting there, watching the Neckar rolling through the valley, listening to the music of the Austrian band below, and waiting for my lover, like a real storybook girl.  I had a feeling that something was going to happen and I was ready for it.  I didn’t feel blushy or quakey, but quite cool and only a little excited.

By-and-by I heard Fred’s voice, and then he came hurrying through the great arch to find me.  He looked so troubled that I forgot all about myself, and asked what the matter was.  He said he’d just got a letter begging him to come home, for Frank was very ill.  So he was going at once on the night train and only had time to say good-by.  I was very sorry for him, and disappointed for myself, but only for a minute because he said, as he shook hands, and said it in a way that I could not mistake, “I shall soon come back, you won’t forget me, Amy?”

I didn’t promise, but I looked at him, and he seemed satisfied, and there was no time for anything but messages and good-byes, for he was off in an hour, and we all miss him very much.  I know he wanted to speak, but I think, from something he once hinted, that he had promised his father not to do anything of the sort yet a while, for he is a rash boy, and the old gentleman dreads a foreign daughter-in-law.  We shall soon meet in Rome, and then, if I don’t change my mind, I’ll say “Yes, thank you,” when he says “Will you, please?”