Juliet did not have another dream--as least, not another prophetic dream. She had one terrible dream where she walked up the church aisle in her apron--and nothing else!--and another where she made a cake and then realized she hadn't used any flour, and had to scramble around trying to find out what she'd used instead. In fact, she'd almost forgotten about that one dream, as summer drifted on, warm and cloudless. In no time at all it was July, and Joy Meredith was getting married. Mrs. Jacob Penhallow, now. Juliet was again a bridesmaid, and again Mrs. Dr. Blythe's veil was worn. Only the color of the bridesmaid dresses had changed--these were a pale blue--and the cast of characters was slightly different. And there were no wayward bumblebees to cause a disturbance.

"Everyone is getting married," said Juliet dejectedly one August evening. "For the girls with no especial love affairs going on it's hard. But I must remember how I felt when I was 'engaged' to Blair--yes, I must use quotation marks around that. I don't feel as if we were really engaged at all because I don't feel I ever really knew Blair. But at the time, I felt as if everyone in the world must be as excited as I was. So I'll sit back, and try to share in everyone else's excitement, and try to forget that I don't know where I stand with Allan at all. That's my resolution."

Juliet made this resolution none too soon, because that evening Bea came over and announced that she and Mr. Walsh were engaged. Well, not really engaged, but engaged to be engaged. Aunt Ilse had issued a dictum--Bea must wait until her twentieth birthday before she was allowed to be engaged. But Bea did have a lovely ring waiting on her right hand.

"They're hoping that David will lose interest," Bea said hotly, dashing angry tears from her eyes. "But he won't. He loves me."

"I think," Juliet volunteered. "That Aunt Ilse is just worried. Mr. Walsh--I mean, David--is quite a bit older that you, Bea."

"So what?" Bea retorted. "Uncle Dean is almost thirty years older than Aunt Elizabeth, and look how well that turned out!"

"All that matters is if you're happy, Bea. I think Mr. Wal--David is wonderful."

"I'm vastly satisfied with myself," said Bea. "I only wanted David at first because I thought I couldn't have him. And then when I got him, I realized I couldn't live without him. But are you happy for me, Juliet?" Bea looked at her earnestly as her fat diamond ring winked bluish sparkles all over the room. It was almost twice the size of Juliet's own ring from Allan, but somehow not half as pretty.

"Yes," said Juliet. "Of course I am!"

"Well, I thought you might be," said Bea. "But I couldn't be sure. After all--you and Blair King would be deep in your own engagement if it hadn't been for me."

"I'm really, truly happy for you," Juliet laughed. "And I was mad about Blair when it happened. But Bea, sending that letter turned out to be the best thing you could have done for me, in the long run. I swear that I'm not mad now."

"I'll make it up to you, I swear I will," Bea promised. "Have you heard anything about Blair King lately?"

"Yes--I saw Rachel King in Charlottetown when I went up for the Exhibition last month. Blair's fine. His plane was shot down over the Philippines, but he was able to make it back to camp unharmed. He's writing to Hannah Ford over in the Glen--and she's only sixteen! A baby. It's just further proof that love affairs are everywhere." Juliet grinned. "But on to other topics--do you think Allan fancies that Italian girl? Andalucia? He writes of her so often."

Juliet tried to keep her voice light and inquisitive, but she couldn't help looking down at the little ring on her own left hand as she said it. Maybe Allan wouldn't want her wearing it on her left hand? He had asked her to so long ago. Years, in fact. Of course his feelings had changed since then!

"I don't know," said Bea, truthfully, missing nothing in Juliet's glance. "He does write of her an awful lot. But Juliet--I think--if you wrote him and told him that you loved him that way--he'd drop her like a hot coal. He's always loved you, Juliet. I remember when we were learning our letters Mother told us to write a special message to someone. I wrote my name, over and over, but Allan wrote your name, over and over. He was a baby! And he loved you then."

"But I don't want him to drop anyone," Juliet said hotly. "Either he wants me or he doesn't. I did write a letter to him, Bea, telling him that I would marry him after all, but I never mailed it. And I won't. I know I should--but I'm too stubborn for that. I don't want to have to convince Allan to love me--I want him to love me naturally."

"Juliet!" came Mother's voice from downstairs. "You've left your things scattered across the kitchen. Come and pick them up, please, now!"

Juliet rolled her eyes at Bea and went meekly to do Mother's bidding. Sometimes she still felt like such a child. It seemed impossible that she was old enough to have any love affairs of her own at all.

* * *

After supper Juliet searched the cubbyhole in her desk for that sweet, dear little letter she'd written to Allan long ago. Perhaps she would send it, after all. What had she to lose? And she did love him so.

She could not find it. Juliet tore frantically around her room, looking under cushions and shaking out books to see if it had been tucked between the leaves. Nothing. She could not find it anywhere.

"I suppose it's an omen," Juliet said dejectedly. "If I was meant to be with Allan, I would have found it, and sent it. But I'm not, obviously. But--I wish I was."