_New York,
April._
Truly you lost no time in hurrying to your Mona Lisa with my
cablegram. Moreover, there’s a little doubt in your letter when you
ask, “Is it the Prince?” Can you blame me if--well, I’ll leave the
rest unwritten. In the meantime, Aunt is going to take Checkers, Sybil
and me to Louisville for the races, and then to Canada, just for a
brief camping trip. She says it’s to cheer me up, for I showed her
your letter and she’s much annoyed with you. Indeed it raised the poor
thing’s hopes that I was making the April Fool joke a reality. It did
come rather near to being serious. The Prince joins us at Louisville.
Strange about those pictures. I guess I’ll watch him.
Do you still think I really gave Boris your lion? Well, only to show
you how wrong you are about me, I will tell you that I did lose it in
Paris, but not until your letter came, did I have any idea the Prince
had it. I suppose he must have picked it up, and I am not at all sure
he even knew that it was mine. Now aren’t you ashamed?
I’m going right on, however, with preparations for the wedding in
spite of Aunt’s denials. A few presents are arriving, for I put a bold
face on to my friends and say we are engaged and you are coming soon.
We have a vase, a tea-set, a great silver bowl; so far that’s about
all. My old beaux are sending things, all except Boris, who seems to
think his constant presence is the one thing to bestow. I am working
on the wedding list,--it seems endless, and Aunt sniffs incredulously
when she sees me at it.
How long I’ve sat over this letter I don’t know, just dreaming of you
and thinking of Venice so many months ago. Now it is Spring and warm
and lovely; the flowers are in bloom and you are not here. Will any of
my dreams come true, I wonder?
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