Somehow those things do n't interest me like they once did . July 9 . The picture is coming on very well , Mr. Osborne says . I know he is making me look far too pretty in it , although her persists in saying he ca n't do me justice . He is going to send it to some great exhibition when finished , but he says he will make a little water-color copy for me . He comes every day to paint and we talk a great deal and he reads me lovely things out of his books . I do n't understand them all , but I try to , and he explains them so nicely and is so patient with my stupidity . And he says any one with my eyes and hair and coloring does not need to be clever . He says I have the sweetest , merriest laugh in the world . But I will not write down all the compliments he has paid me . I dare say he does not mean them at all . In the evening we stroll among the spruces or sit on the bench under the acacia tree . Sometimes we do n't talk at all , but I never find the time long . Indeed , the minutes just seem to fly -- and then the moon will come up , round and red , over the harbor and Mr. Osborne will sigh and say he supposes it is time for him to go . July 24 . I am so happy . I am frightened at my happiness . Oh , I did n't think life could ever be so beautiful for me as it is ! Paul loves me ! He told me so to-night as we walked by the harbor and watched the sunset , and he asked me to be his wife .
I have cared for him ever since I met him , but I am afraid I am not clever and well-educated enough XXXXX a wife for Paul .
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