room before I was back again. I tickled his nose with a straw, I snatched his pencil from him, I pulled and spoiled his drawing, and was altogether as abominable as a spoiled and naughty child can be. At last Erik really grew angry. He seized me by the shoulder, and lifted his arm.... When I looked up at him tauntingly and said, 'Yes, strike me if you dare.'
His arm fell, his eyes filled with tears, and he said, 'Dear little Julie, don't be angry with me. I am a horrid brute.'
Erik, Erik, you irritatingly foolish man, why did you not give me the whacking I so thoroughly deserved. Many things might have been different then.
What's the good of mother taking me to task and telling me that I am a heartless coquette and ought to consider myself a favoured mortal for having won your most excellent heart.
That is all very well; but why don't you win my heart. Why don't you take it with the strong hand of the conqueror, and for once in a while make me a tiny bit afraid. Don't always crouch so humbly at my feet with that irritating 'just as you please, darling' expression in your face.
YESTERDAY Erik's uncle Mr. Glerup gave a ball. I had looked forward to it in the most childish way. It was my first ball this winter, and would perhaps be my only one. After all it turned out to be utter dulness and stupidity.
