_Monte Catini,
August._
My darling, I am sorry you are homesick, for I know the misery of it,
and how strange scenes and peoples and places and ways have kept you
excited till now you feel weary. Believe me, Polly, I have spoken
truly, and your letter which came to me today is so sweet, yet it
troubles me a little with its doubt. Nevertheless, the kiss you send
quite takes the pain away.
Charlton of the British Embassy has not been at all well and has
joined me here to take the cure. The other day he said he had hoped
that you and I might like each other (like each other, indeed!) and at
this I laughed heartily.
I dined with him at his _locanda_ last evening and as usual he had
made all sorts of careful preparations and the dinner was the best the
landlady could provide, at a little special table beneath an arbor
with a trellis of American woodbine. We could hear in the distance a
band, for it was a fête day again. He treats me with so much ceremony
on these occasions--I am bowed in and bowed out by the whole
establishment in such a way that I feel quite set up. I get him to
talking on his hobby, coins, and then--I think of you. And so we are
both happy.
Your token has just been sent on to me here by Peppi, and entrusted to
the care of Charlton. The first words I blotted with it are the two
that begin this letter, “My darling.” I am so grateful for it, and you
know the thought that sent it is most precious. It means so much to
me. I truly was in need of a blotter, for both my old one and the
little one in my travelling bag have been used up by my many letters
to you. It is so nice to be thought of by one whom one wishes to be
thought of by!
I am reading of the Prince of Naples’ visit to Montenegro to see his
Princess, as interestedly as if I really had something depending on
it. Everyone knows all the details of the royal match. As Mr. Dooley
says, “Nowadays th’ window shades is up at th’ king’s house as well as
everywhere else. Th’ gas is lighted, and we see his Majesty stormin’
around because th’ dinner is late and brushin’ his crown before goin’
out.” I watch the _contadini_, too, when they come into this little
town,--the lovers,--and wonder at them and with them. For in these
things, you know, dear, prince and peasant meet.
Do not bother your little head about Mona Lisa; _you_ are a dear!
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