_Rome,
March._
As to the date of the wedding, of course it rests with you, dear, to
fix it. It should be, if possible, a week or so after I get home but
as for waiting until autumn, I should die! Why not May--that time of
year would be lovely at the farm? My plan would be to make a festive
little program of pre-nuptial events and a small wedding in church and
then you and I would go away and leave everybody in the midst of it
all.
But my Polly will arrange everything quite perfectly, I’m sure. A poor
man, who is an awkward creature at best, is simply disorganized when
it comes to a wedding--and that wedding his own, whew! Nevertheless,
we’re talking about it, and just that alone makes me want to dance
another of my celebrated Highland flings. Make it May, and near the
latter part. I simply cannot fail to be relieved of my work in time to
reach home by that date.
Your letter hurt me. Nothing but duty keeps me in Rome, and you must
learn to trust me, and not tease and provoke me, because this
separation is quite as hard for me as it is for you. Your Prince is
here again, but is becoming impossible. I have seen little of him and
would like to see even less. Pan, dear Pan who never has a hard word
for anyone, much less for one of his own colleagues, tells me he is
the most malicious man he knows, that he likes trouble and does the
most abominable things. Even the Russians at his own Embassy seem to
be watching him closely. He couldn’t do much to trouble us, could he,
dear? Has he been writing, to you often, I wonder? And what about?
Tell me.
Polly, I write you everything! The other night, just Turkish Pan and
artist Peppi and Madame Mona Lisa came to a little dinner in my rooms.
While we were talking of not drinking, (I had planned to stop during
Lent) I said, with you in my mind, there were of course some toasts I
couldn’t resist. Quick as a wink Peppi lifted his glass with “To Mona
Lisa!” I was furious, but had to drink it. Dear kind bejewelled Pan
then raised his and said “Miss Polly.”
Of course Gilet had to refill my glass which he did with evident
delight, for he does not like a dry Lent. But to the second toast I
drank heel taps, you may be sure. Then my lady Lisa took an imitation
pansy from her dress, saying she knew that Miss Polly gave me fresh
ones, but while yours would fade, hers would last forever and bestowed
it upon me. Peppi, to my great amusement, looked daggers--he was just
like an angry spaniel with his fuzzy hair,--so I made a great show of
sentiment in accepting the flower.
Will you forgive me? not for breaking my Lenten sacrifice, for alas!
what is that to my little Pagan? You wouldn’t give up your tiny glass
unless you took it to pour a libation to some heathen god of mischief.
Forgive me for the first toast I drank, that’s all.
There is one thing also I must speak of. I have seen the gold St. Mark
lion I gave you on the Prince’s chain. I am sure it was the one,
because it had ruby eyes. Although we have not been speaking, I went
deliberately up to him and asked him where he got it. He looked
confused and said something about having picked it up in Paris. Then I
remarked, “I think some pretty American girl gave it to you.” He
laughed and replied, “Maybe, who knows?” And Peppi tells me today that
he has already sailed for New York. Will you kindly tell me why you
gave it to him?
Just what does this mean? The more I think of my lion, the more
indignant I am. To pay you back, I am going really to flirt with Mona.
I give you fair warning. What do you think of that?
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