Oh, it would be all I should ask!
And I'd rather have it than any title such as girls snap up so readily, and find nothing behind.
I may be mercenary, but I hate poverty, and don't mean to bear it a minute longer than I can help. One of us must marry well.
Meg didn't, 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?"
Of course this is all very private, but I wished you to know what was going on.
Don't be anxious about me, remember I am your 'prudent Amy', and be sure I will do nothing rashly.
Send me as much advice as you like. I'll use it if I can.
I wish I could see you for a good talk, Marmee.
Love and trust me.
Ever your AMY
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
TENDER TROUBLES
"Jo, I'm anxious about Beth."
"Why, Mother, she has seemed unusually well since the babies came."
"It's not her health that troubles me now, it's her spirits.
I'm sure there is something on her mind, and I want you to discover what it is."
"What makes you think so, Mother?"
"She sits alone a good deal, and doesn't talk to her father as much as she used.
I found her crying over the babies the other day.
When she sings, the songs are always sad ones, and now and then I see a look in her face that I don't understand.
This isn't like Beth, and it worries me."
"Have you asked her about it?"
"I have tried once or twice, but she either evaded my questions or looked so distressed that I stopped.
I never force my children's confidence, and I seldom have to wait for long."
Mrs. March glanced at Jo as she spoke, but the face opposite seemed quite unconscious of any secret disquietude but Beth's, and after sewing thoughtfully for a minute, Jo said,
"I think she is growing up, and so begins to dream dreams, and have hopes and fears and fidgets, without knowing why or being able to explain them.
Why, Mother, Beth's eighteen, but we don't realize it, and treat her like a child, forgetting she's a woman."
"So she is.