"He is not only extremely handsome," he told Charlotte, 'but good. I can tell you that there was great rejoicing when he came to the throne. We looked forward to a time of prosperity, for the King cares, as few have before him, for the good of his people.”

"He sounds a very worthy king," Charlotte agreed. "Is he ... warlike?”

Colonel Graeme looked at her oddly and she flushed. She said quickly: "I hate war. You will see what it has done to our country. But kings seem to take to it mightily. I was wondering whether the King of England enjoys going to war.”

"Indeed he does not," replied Colonel Graeme. "The King of England is opposed to war. He hates suffering of any sort. He wants to see his subjects happily at peace. When his father, the Prince of Wales, died, he was deeply affected. He scarcely touched food for days and we feared for his health. He loved his father; but when two gardeners fell off a ladder in the gardens at Kew he was upset for days.”

"He sounds a very virtuous king.”

"I believe Your Highness would think him the best king in the world.”

"If he loves peace, I should. But His Majesty of England will care little for my opinion.”

"I believe His Majesty would be deeply gratified by Your Highness's good opinion.”

Colonel Graeme was indeed a courtier, thought Charlotte. She was not sorry for Christina's sake when they returned to Mecklenburg. It was pleasant to be back, for the summer was now with them and they could spend a great deal of time in the gardens.

They must not think the sun was an excuse for idleness, said Madame de Grabow; they must not sit about, their hands in their laps, merely because the sun was shining. Such a sybarite existence was to be deplored. They could read in the sunshine, study their Latin verbs, answer Madame de Grabow's questions on history or geography; they could set up a table and make maps of the world; and there was always the needle. When their garments were all repaired they could take up their embroidery or lace; but not before.

Christina was a little anxious. "I cannot understand why there must be all this delay.”

"Does the Duke know why?" asked Charlotte.

"He is as puzzled as I. Why, before we went to Pyrmont it was as good as settled. Now it is: "Wait... You must be patient." We have been patient long enough.”

Poor Christina. She had lost the look which love had put upon her, for the anxiety took the sparkle from her eyes. It can't go wrong, thought Charlotte. It must not go wrong. And why should it?

Madame de Grabow had ordered them to set up the table and their sewing was laid on it in little bundles. Not much today, Charlotte was thinking. She would soon be working on her embroidery.

It was very pleasant stitching in the sunshine; she had almost forgotten that letter she had written to the King of Prussia, and when she did think of it she assured herself that it had never reached him. Had she not been a little naive to imagine it would? She pictured the scene; the messenger arriving and the letters being taken from him by one of the King's secretary. And what was this one? A letter from the Princess Charlotte Sophia of Mecklenburg-Strelitz! Who was she? A girl of sixteen. She pictured the secretary opening the letter, casting his eye over it and, laughing, tearing it up and throwing it in the waste-paper basket or holding it in the flame of a candle. She had been foolish to worry.

"You're thoughtful," whispered Ida.

"I can guess what you're thinking. You're wondering when there will be a suitor for you.”

Charlotte did not answer for a moment; she carefully threaded a pale blue strand of silk; she loved working with beautiful colours. "Oh come, Ida," she said, when her needle was threaded and she was plying it again, 'do you really think a husband will ever be found for me?

"He may find you.”

"You are too romantic. I believe you read romances.”

"Well, they're more interesting than your Greek and Latin.”

"How can you tell since you don't know Greek and Latin? At least they teach me to be realistic, whereas your romances teach you to dream impossible dreams.”

"Why impossible? Why shouldn't you have a husband? Many people do...particularly princesses.”

Charlotte looked across the table where Christina's head was bent over her sewing. She desperately hoped that everything would work out well for Christina.

"Now who," said Charlotte almost testily, 'would want to marry a poor little princess like me! Be realistic, Ida, for once. My mouth is too large and my person too small, I have neither attractions nor fortune. No man whom my brother and my mother would consider worthy would consider me worthy, so there's an end of the matter.”

Just as she finished speaking the sound of the postman's horn was heard in the distance.

"Letters from afar," said Christina, lifting her head.

Ida's eyes sparkled. "Perhaps this is a sweetheart come to claim you, Princess," she whispered to Charlotte.

Charlotte laughed at her; and they were all silent. Again the postman's horn was heard this time nearer. They listened to it until it was right at the door of the schloss.

A page was coming across the gardens, straight to the table where the girls sat at their sewing.

Christina was watching eagerly. Poor Christina. She was always believing that she would be summoned to her brother's presence and there told that she had his consent to her marriage.

"His Highness commands the presence of the Princess Charlotte without delay.”

Charlotte's knees were trembling as she rose. This was how she had imagined it a hundred times.

The letters arriving from Prussia. The King's fury; his angry letters to the Duke who allowed his sister to be so disrespectful to the King of whom every little German duke must stand in awe.

Christina and Ida looked alarmed; even Madame de Grabow was ill at ease. The letters had just arrived. It seemed strange that Charlotte should have been summoned so soon. This could not have happened unless it was a matter of the utmost importance.

She followed the page into the castle. It was so hot out of doors, so cool behind those thick walls; but it was not the change of temperature which made her shiver; it was apprehension. She was saying to herself: I don't care. It was right to do it. I know it was right.

The door was flung open. There they stood; her brother and her mother, side by side. Oh, this was a very important occasion.

"Charlotte”. It was her mother who spoke. She approached, still rehearsing her excuses.

"Charlotte, my dear child." Her mother embraced her.

"I have wonderful news for you. This is one of the happiest days of my life.”

Charlotte looked from her mother to her brother. He, too, was smiling.

The Duke said almost teasingly: "So you thought fit to write a letter to the King of Prussia?”

"Yes," answered Charlotte, trying to be bold but hearing her voice end on a squeak which betrayed her fear.

"Telling His Majesty how to conduct his armies.”

"No, that was not so. I merely told him of what the war had done to us here. I begged him to stop his soldiers pillaging the land which was doing no good to any of us.”

"It was an impertinent letter," said the Duke.

"But," added the Dowager Duchess with a smile, 'it amused His Majesty.”

"It... it was not meant to amuse.”

"It touched him too. He has given orders that his armies shall not plunder the villages through which they pass.”

Charlotte clasped her hands and smiled. She did not care now. She had achieved her purpose.

They could punish her if they wished. She would sew a hundred of the coarsest shirts to be distributed among the poor; she would not care; she would rejoice as she pricked her fingers as one always did with that coarse stuff. And she would think all the time of the King of Prussia, reading her letter and deciding that she was right.

"The King thought it a remarkable letter for a sixteen-year-old girl to write. Though you are seventeen now, Charlotte.”

"Yes, Mamma.”

"That is good too. It is a pleasant age. Now for my news. The King of Prussia had copies of your letter made and showed them to his friends. He even sent one to the Dowager Princess of England the mother of the King.”

"To England! So far!”

"It was the biggest stroke of good fortune that has come to our House for a long time," said the Duke.

"Your Highness means my letter ...”

"Your letter," said her mother. She smiled at her son.

"The Princess Dowager thought it a remarkable letter; so did her son.”

"The King! The King of England?”

"He read it, they tell me, and tears filled his eyes. He said: "What a remarkable girl the Princess Charlotte must be." And so he sent Colonel Graeme to see you and to report to him what he thought of you. It seems that Colonel Graeme thought very highly of you.”

"Mamma ... what are you telling me?”

"That you are fortunate beyond our wildest hopes and dreams. The King of England is asking for your hand in marriage.”

"What did I say?" demanded Ida.

"Did I not say it was a sweetheart? I never thought it would be the King of England, though.”

"But Ida... he has not seen me!”

"Colonel Graeme has seen you. And he evidently liked what he saw.”

"What a strange way in which to choose a bride”

"All royal brides are chosen in that way.”

"Colonel Graeme must have flattered me. I hope it won't be a shock for the King when he sees me.”