Part 18 (1/2)

A. D. TO POLLY

_Cable from Rome, Evening, April 1._

Another cable was brought me late tonight. ”April Fool!” it read.

Thank G.o.d. Polly, don't do that again.

A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, April 2d._

Your dear cablegram came this morning begging my forgiveness. You have it, dearest, absolutely. Evidently somebody's little conscience troubled her about her naughty message of April first. You'll get, I fear, a pretty sharp letter which ought not, however, to offend you.

Anyway the last cable made me happy, and yet another, telling me that the Senate had confirmed the nomination of the new Amba.s.sador, made me happier still and my heart lighter than it had been for weeks. At least, someone is coming now.

But we're doing the only thing to be done under the circ.u.mstances, and my Polly, I know, expects every man to do his duty, doesn't she? I shall be home by May, you can be sure, even if I have to resort to the desperate measure of deserting my post. But that would be a hard step to take.

Yesterday I went about a bit--that is, this earthly sh.e.l.l of mine did, while my heart and soul were with you, dear--first to take luncheon with Peppi and to look at his curious copies of old masters. Do you know, he has even taken to painting them on wood, exactly like the fifteenth century--and his own Mona Lisa is uncannily like the one in the Louvre. I told him so and he looked queerly at me. Some had been boxed for sending and whose name do you think was blackly lettered on them? The Prince's--and the address somewhere down on New York's east side. Curious, isn't it?

I didn't stay long, being too distracted (my nerves are so strung up, they make me the worst company in the world). So I wandered home through the beautiful sunny streets, down past the foot of the Spanish steps where we used to meet, past the fountain and the flower-sellers.

Write soon, won't you?

POLLY TO A. D.

_New York, April._

Truly you lost no time in hurrying to your Mona Lisa with my cablegram. Moreover, there's a little doubt in your letter when you ask, ”Is it the Prince?” Can you blame me if--well, I'll leave the rest unwritten. In the meantime, Aunt is going to take Checkers, Sybil and me to Louisville for the races, and then to Canada, just for a brief camping trip. She says it's to cheer me up, for I showed her your letter and she's much annoyed with you. Indeed it raised the poor thing's hopes that I was making the April Fool joke a reality. It did come rather near to being serious. The Prince joins us at Louisville.

Strange about those pictures. I guess I'll watch him.

Do you still think I really gave Boris your lion? Well, only to show you how wrong you are about me, I will tell you that I did lose it in Paris, but not until your letter came, did I have any idea the Prince had it. I suppose he must have picked it up, and I am not at all sure he even knew that it was mine. Now aren't you ashamed?

I'm going right on, however, with preparations for the wedding in spite of Aunt's denials. A few presents are arriving, for I put a bold face on to my friends and say we are engaged and you are coming soon.

We have a vase, a tea-set, a great silver bowl; so far that's about all. My old beaux are sending things, all except Boris, who seems to think his constant presence is the one thing to bestow. I am working on the wedding list,--it seems endless, and Aunt sniffs incredulously when she sees me at it.

How long I've sat over this letter I don't know, just dreaming of you and thinking of Venice so many months ago. Now it is Spring and warm and lovely; the flowers are in bloom and you are not here. Will any of my dreams come true, I wonder?

A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, April._

Sweetheart, on coming home I found a letter from the new Secretary who is leaving Was.h.i.+ngton for Rome even before the Amba.s.sador. I am going to pack up at once and be ready to start as soon as he arrives.

Now you can settle on some date towards the end of May for the wedding.