_Rome,
April._
I had been in bed some time, Polly my love, dozing and dreaming of
you, when I heard the door in the salon open and someone knocking
about in the dark, so I called out to know who it was. The half-asleep
_portier_ said, “Two telegrams, signor.” Up I got; up the light went,
too. Eagerly the yellow envelopes were torn open. One was yours,
“Hurry up! Come soon. How about May 31?”
For a moment I stood dazed, overwhelmed by the thought--my wedding
day! Then suddenly the realization in a great flood of happiness came
over me. Oh, indeed, I’ll hurry!
And the other cable? Aha! That was from my successor, the new
Secretary. He has already arrived in London and stopping there for a
few days’ business.
Checkers and Sybil have my congratulations. They certainly have sprung
a surprise.
* * * * *