_Leicestershire,
October._
On coming back from a drive today, dear, we saw some gypsies camped by
the roadside, so we stopped and gave them the remains of our picnic
luncheon. They invited us into their tents and told our fortunes. An
old gypsy declared the cards said a gray-eyed woman with a mysterious
smile might give me trouble and that a handsome man in the south would
disappoint me. Now what do you think of that?
Say to Peppi that I hope he is not falling in love with that trapeze
girl for Aunt wouldn’t like it. But how about you?
You ask if I want you to stop writing sweet things to me,--why, of
course, I don’t. Every girl likes love letters. But you needn’t feel
obliged to, you know. We have a few days with the Prince in Paris,
then sail for home, sweet home.
Would we go home by way of Italy, you ask! Well, I don’t plan to run
all over the country after a certain young man. If he wants to see me,
he can come to Paris, and if he doesn’t, he needn’t! Now I can see you
laugh, but I don’t care!
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