_Steamship Cleopatra_,
_January_.
I don’t know where we are, somewhere on the Mediterranean on our way
back from Egypt. It is the middle of the night, but I must write down
what has happened, for it’s too exciting! Well! There’s a Russian
aboard, and he is a Prince--Aunt discovered that, trust her, she’s
absolutely set on my marrying a title. Anyhow we are all at the same
table and last night he and I walked on deck together. There was a
full moon, by the way, and really there aren’t any other nice young
men on board, except Checkers, and brothers don’t count, so of course
the Prince and I started a little flirtation. He’s as clever as he can
be--very cosmopolitan, rather a mysterious person, and big, with a
blonde moustache.
[1] Written at the age of twenty. I. A.
But when I went back to my cabin and put on my rainbow negligée, the
one with the wing sleeves, and started over to Aunt’s cabin to bid
her goodnight,--why, what do you suppose? I went into the wrong
stateroom! Honestly, I was sure hers was 26, but it wasn’t, and the
minute I entered I saw I had made a mistake, for there stood the
Russian, still dressed and staring out of the porthole. Of course he
turned and looked at me; I tried to explain but stuttered in my
excitement. He proved to be nice about it, but rather silly, I
thought.
The worst of it was, though, that the boat lurched and swung the door
shut, and then, of all things, the knob fell off! Really, I was so
embarrassed and so furious with myself for being embarrassed, when it
was such a chance to show what a woman of the world I was, that my
hand shook and I could hardly get the knob into place again. But I
did, with the Prince’s help--only I must admit his help didn’t amount
to much--however he opened the door and bowed me out as if I were a
great lady.
On the whole he really behaved very well, but foreigners are so
different from Americans. I’m rather ashamed, so I’m going to dodge
him after this if I can.
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