“Oh, Ida, do come here a minute. I can’t sleep, I tell you, and my head aches for thinking. Feel--I think I have some fever, and there is something the matter with my tummy again. Or is it because I am anæmic? The veins in my temples are all swollen and they beat so that it hurts; but still, there may be too little blood in my head.” A chair was pushed back, and Ida Jungmann’s lean, vigorous figure, in her unfashionable brown gown, appeared between the portières. “Now, now, Tony--fever? Let me feel, my child--I’ll make you a compress.” She went with her long firm masculine tread to the chest for a handkerchief, dipped it into the water-basin, and, going back to the bed, laid it on Tony’s forehead, stroking her brow a few times with both hands. “Thank you, Ida; that feels good.--Oh, please sit down a few minutes, good old Ida. Sit down on the edge of the bed. You see, I keep thinking the whole time about to-morrow. What shall I do? My head is going round and round.” Ida sat down beside her, with her needle and the stocking drawn over the darner again in her hand, and bent over them the smooth grey head and the indefatigable bright brown eyes. “Do you think he is going to propose to-morrow?” she asked. “No doubt of it at all. He won’t lose this opportunity. It happened with Clara on just such an expedition. I could avoid it, of course, I could keep with the others all the time and not let him get near me. But then, that would settle it! He is leaving day after to-morrow, he said, and he cannot stay any longer if nothing comes of it to-day. It _must_ be decided to-day.--But what shall I say, Ida, when he asks me? You’ve never been married, so of course you know nothing about life, _really_; but you are a truthful woman, and you have some sense--and you are forty-two years old! Do tell me what you think.--I do so need advice!” Ida Jungmann let the stocking fall into her lap. “Yes, yes, Tony child, I have thought a great deal about it. But what I think is, there is nothing to advise about. He can’t go away without speaking to you and your Mamma, and if you didn’t want him, you should have sent him away before now.” “You are right there, Ida; but I could not do it--I suppose because it _is to be_! But now I keep thinking: ‘It isn’t too late yet; I can still draw back!’ So I am living here tormenting myself--” “Do you like him, Tony? Tell me straight out.”