_Rome,
March._
Hurrah! I have won the hat from Checkers. When the Prince came to say
goodbye, he proposed. “Some speed to that boy,” says Brother. Of
course I refused him. Oh, if Aunt knew, she would be madder than a wet
hen. But Boris swears he won’t take no for an answer, “You mock me
like wicked Pagan girl that you are. But I love Pagans. I meet you in
Paris before you sail for America.”
We are leaving Rome tomorrow. A. D. and I had a long talk on the
terrace and just a wee bit of nonsense. He wants to spend next Sunday
with us at Sorrento. I told him to come along. Thank Heaven the
divorcée has left Rome at last.
Carlo also asked to be allowed to come to Sorrento, but I don’t want
him to, and so there’s an end to that. He can have his Italian girl.
I wonder if Peppi will turn up, for Aunt’s portrait is finished and
she likes it. It ought to be good after those long sittings.
It has amused me to lead these foreigners all on, but it is dangerous
to play with fire. Gonzaga remarked today, “My mother says me marry my
cousin, a Spanish countess, but you, Miss Polly, you hear from me
again.” As to foreigners in general and Prince Boris in particular,
they certainly know how to flirt, but I wouldn’t trust them around the
corner. They like to tell naughty stories and pretend they’re dead in
love.
So the Roman season is over; the fun and the beaux and the parties and
the drives on the Campagna are things of the past, things for me to
remember when I’m old and gray. I’ve had a glorious time here and I’m
sorry it’s ended, but Aunt says we must travel again, and I must
study. The happy days for Checkers and me are over. I wonder if I will
experience some day “_une grande passion_” as they call it over here
and marry. Who knows?
I am not sure that I shall have much time to keep a journal after this
for it seems as if I’d promised to write to half the men in Rome.
_PART II_
_COURT AND COURTING_