_En route,
May._
A. D., dearest, how exciting it must be for you about now, sighting
from the steamer deck that low-lying Long Island shore, Sandy Hook,
the channel, and beyond them, the beautiful bay. I can imagine your
father going to meet you on the busy, snubnosed, important little
tug,--but then, I think of so many things happening, for while we were
camping and your letters stopped, “thinks” were all I had to live on.
We are flying at sixty miles an hour, nearer and nearer to you. After
days of silence I found your two wonderful letters waiting for me when
we got back to civilization. The clerk at the hotel said Aunt had
given orders to hold them. I wonder if she did this on purpose, for
surely they could have been sent in to us by a guide. The Prince was
with me when I made my inquiries; I saw him trying to suppress a
smile. But he does not like my ignoring him and he is getting a bit
ugly. When I broke the news of Peppi’s marriage to Mona Lisa, both he
and Aunt seemed disturbed, and Boris acted quite upset, and as if he
had lost an ally. I left them talking it over. He certainly has Aunt
hypnotized. My twin wagered he would try for her hand next.
Checkers and Sybil spend their time on the train shamelessly making
love and telling me I must begin to inform Aunt about the wedding. I
screwed up my courage an hour ago and began, “The Rector says he’ll
perform the ceremony, Aunt--” but she broke in with “Whose ceremony?”
“Mine and A. D.’s,” I continued, trying to look determined.
“Humph!” she said, and closed her eyes, pretending to go to sleep.
When she awoke, I tackled her again. “I’ve engaged the church, Aunt,”
quoth I.
“What for?” said she.
“For the thirty-first,” I replied blandly while Checkers snickered.
“What are you talking about?” and by now Aunt was truly cross.
“The same thing,” I sighed, “our wedding.”
She muttered something about that ceremony never coming off and
departed for the observation car to join the Prince. But she looked
worried.
Checkers egged me on to begin again when she re-appeared. “As I was
saying, Aunt, when we were interrupted, everything’s all ready, you
know. Checkers will give me away. Sybil is to be maid of honor--she’s
to wear white lace and carry Lady Battersea roses--and the decorations
are to be wine-red azaleas--”
“Not another word!” she snapped, and I drew a long breath and stopped
for a few minutes to get ready for the next attack. After a pause,
“The thirty-first’s the day, you know,” I observed casually. Aunt
blinked.
“The wedding day,” piped up my brother. “Our Polly’s!”
“How about Boris?” she inquired. “You are a little fool not to become
a princess.”
I ignored this remark and continued, “Ricci is going to sing and St.
Laurent will be at the organ and--” I found I was addressing an empty
chair, for my relative had stalked off once more.
The next opportunity another bolt was shot at her. “My wedding dress
is ordered, and it’s a beauty! The veil will be four yards--”
“Porter!” shouted Aunt, and as that coffee-colored individual stopped
short, she started him on a long explanation of the route ahead of us,
while I withdrew, baffled and brooding, to re-read your letters. How
am I going to bring my guardian around finally?
Later I began again, “I think the reception at the house after the
ceremony should not be very large,” this apropos of nothing, “for by
the thirty-first a good many people will have left town, though, of
course they’d run up for a wedding like ours,--”
“Are you crazy?” she demanded. “We shan’t be home till the
twenty-eighth, and you can’t get your invitations engraved in time,
let alone sending them out.”
Checkers and Sybil drew near. “They’re all done and sent!” we
chorused.
“I mailed part of them!” proclaimed my brother.
“I, too!” piped up Sybil.
“When was all this?” cried Aunt.
“The day we left New York, so you see, you really can’t do anything
about it,” Checkers continued politely.
Aunt turned purple. “I don’t believe a word of it, and I shall not
countenance it,” whereupon she stamped her foot. And that’s the
situation now, dear.
* * * * *