“A true German of the old type; blond and blue-eyed, tall and strong. My hero in good truth—brave and loyal, tender and true,” was the enthusiastic answer.
“I hate fair men,” pouted Amy, under her breath, as the major asked some question about hotels.
“Take a new hero, then; nothing can be more romantic than that,” whispered Helen, glancing at the pale, dark-haired figure wrapped in the military cloak opposite.
“I will, and leave the baron to you;” said Amy, with a stifled laugh.
“Hush! Here are Baden and Karl,” replied Helen, thankful for the interruption.
All was bustle in a moment, and taking leave of them with an air of reluctance, the Pole walked away, leaving Amy looking after him wistfully, quite unconscious that she stood in everybody’s way, and that her uncle was beckoning impatiently from the carriage door.
“Poor boy! I wish he had some one to take care of him,” she sighed, half aloud.
“Mademoiselle, the major waits;” and Karl came up, hat in hand, just in time to hear her and glance after Casimer, with an odd expression.