Part 6

You know we’re staying with friends at Kibworth. A carriage met us at the station and brought us to Carlton Curlieu Hall, a fascinating old house, part of it built in the fifteenth century and part Elizabethan, with a garden, great trees, and a little pond. Near by are the stables with nine hunters, and farther away is an old church with its vicarage, and the village--a few low houses of red brick, some with thatched roofs.

I had the bed-room Oliver Cromwell slept in the night before the battle of Naseby. Most of these old houses have a ghost, but Oliver, I’m sorry to say, didn’t appear.

We are having a ripping time. The Honorable Violet somebody or other is here, among others. She is lady-in-waiting to the Queen, and a very charming person. But I don’t know nearly so many Lords and Dukes and things as you do. I used to detest such people, being an American, but I find I have changed my mind. What few I have seen have been perfectly delightful.

Well, the meet yesterday was just like some hunting-pictures we have at home, with maybe two hundred people, the women and children mostly on ponies, or driving two-wheeled carts. Then came the ride to cover, and the drawing. The field was made up of all classes, statesmen, parsons, peers, and farmers,--all the way from the Duchess of Hamilton, homely in a brown habit and riding as hard as a man, to a horse-dealer.

It was quite windy, and most of them said to each other as they passed, “Good morning. It’s a beastly windy day!”

The hounds rushed in and out of the covers in the hope of finding a fox, and the huntsmen hallooed and blew their horns. There wasn’t any fox in the first cover, but at last one was discovered in the open, and so the pack went scurrying, the huntsmen after them, and the whips. To my surprise, instead of going straight over a hedge into the next field, most of the men went galloping off toward a gate. I didn’t know before that it was bad form to jump unnecessarily. Quite different in America.

Helter-skelter through the back yards and gardens of the little cottages we rode, scattering chickens and pigs and children right and left, while the village people stood in their doorways and watched the hunters stream past.

Then there was a check--the fox had hidden in one of the barnyards, and the huntsmen, hounds, and all the small boys searched for him, while everybody else stood round or walked about in the square in front of the Bull Head Inn. Soon there was a halloo--the fox had been found hiding in a hay mow. He was driven out, “broken up” and the carcass given to the dogs, who yelped and barked and fought for the pieces. The brush was given to me.

Now you can’t say I haven’t written you a long letter, dear old A. D.,--but it was such a wonderful day that I just had to tell you all about it.

* * * * *

POLLY TO A. D.

_Leicestershire, October._

Now for a confession! There are two young men here at the house party. One is big and homely and loose-jointed but a good sort, while the other is dark and very handsome and goes to Oxford. He gave me his picture and asked if he couldn’t have mine for his watch. I told him I was surprised that he didn’t have a girl’s photograph for his already. Before I knew it, he had opened my watch and seen you. I didn’t know exactly what to do, so I said you were my older brother. He swallowed it all down seriously, and in fact remarked that he thought I looked very much like you. I feel immensely flattered and only wish it were true.

But I am not going to write you any more sweet letters. It isn’t because I have changed one bit in my feelings toward you, but because variety is the spice of life, and if you have too many nice things written to you, you won’t appreciate them, and I have been good for a long time now. Besides, you say you are not coming to Paris and I am very cross.

Aunt sends her best wishes and says, “Men are April when they woo, and December when they wed.” I’m afraid that is true to life--don’t you think so?

* * * * *

A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, October._

Oh, little Polly the Pagan, you say that variety is the spice of life and accordingly you won’t write any more sweet letters for a time, so I must hurry to tell you that spice is one of the things forbidden in the diet of my cure, and so I know you won’t force me to take any. You must, you _must_ write me real love letters, or something fatal may happen to me.

Do you wish me to stop writing pretty things to you, now that you have stopped writing them to me? Because, if that is the case, I--I can’t do it! So you see, I plan to keep on pestering you day after day, and you may say, oh, well, as long as it makes him happy, let him continue. The Frenchwoman’s philosophy is that woman’s greatest happiness is in making man happy. She may not really care for him, but she will pretend to, if it makes his heart glad. That is pretty good philosophy. Since you are soon to be in fair France, you should consider the French point of view!

As for your Aunt’s quotation, “Men are April when they woo, December when they wed,” why, that is easily explained. It means that fires burn more hotly in the cold month and more steadily than in flowery April.

Peppi and I had all yesterday evening together, and a very pleasant time of it, too. I went over to his studio and found him. He made a delightful picture, frowzy-haired but handsome in his bright blue blouse, with his pallet in his hand, and his pet white goose following him about, lifting her yellow beak to be fed, and spreading her snowy wings. He explained he had purchased her for her feathery plumage to help him in a picture he was painting of an angel. We dined at the Cambrinus in the garden with colored lights where it was cool and pretty. And then afterwards I took him to the circus. We meet there almost every night. It is an epidemic here.

Oh, a most excellent circus that puts on a lot of style! The band blared out the same old music, marches for the athletes to come stalking in by and polkas to mark time for the horses, and a really most beautiful creature, she looks a little like Mona Lisa, performed on the trapeze--it was great, great fun.

As I can’t go up to Paris, isn’t it possible for you to sail home by way of Naples so I can get a glimpse of you?

* * * * *

POLLY TO A. D.

_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!

* * * * *

A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, October._

I beg to thank you, dear Miss Polly, for your gypsy fortune-telling letter. Did the old gypsy mention by chance a blond Russian Prince? It was most kind of you to think of me at all, so far away in hot Rome, and indeed your letter brought a cool, refreshing air to temper the _sirocco_ and hot sun here.

It has been a trying summer in Rome, and if it hadn’t been for some happy excursions I have been able to make to Florence and Venice and into the country and to the circus, I fear I should have found it unbearable.

Pray forgive my thanking you for your long and very sensible letter and for becoming almost confidential, and believe me, with my very cordial regards to your aunt and brother, and my compliments, very sincerely yours. _Why do you let the Prince join you in Paris, I’d like to know?_

(Br-r-r-! Your letter made me shiver!)

* * * * *

TELEGRAM: POLLY TO A. D.

_Leicestershire, October._

Can’t you stand a little teasing?

* * * * *

TELEGRAM: A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, October._

Not from you. Besides, letters are too short and you have been flirting. What’s more, you are meeting the Prince in Paris. That is what I don’t like.

* * * * *

TELEGRAM: POLLY TO A. D.

_Leicestershire, October._

What can you expect when I haven’t seen you all these months?

* * * * *

TELEGRAM: A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, October._

More than I am getting.

* * * * *

TELEGRAM: POLLY TO A. D.

_Leicestershire, October._

Aren’t you unreasonable?

* * * * *

TELEGRAM: A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, October._

I think not, under the circumstances.

* * * * *

TELEGRAM: POLLY TO A. D.

_Leicestershire, October._

?

* * * * *

TELEGRAM: A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, October._

!

* * * * *

TELEGRAM: POLLY TO A. D.

_Leicestershire, October._

.

* * * * *

_PART III_

_UNCERTAINTY_

CABLE FROM A. D.

_Rome, November. Three weeks later._

Will you marry me? Uncertainty in our relations troubling me deeply. Where do I stand? Heaven or Hell?

* * * * *

CABLE FROM POLLY

_New York, November._

Call it Heaven.

* * * * *

A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, November._

I do call it Heaven, or I would if only you were here. As it is, the doors are locked, for you are my golden key to happiness, to Paradise itself. It seems ages since your last letter came. Don’t play with me again, will you, dearest? Although your letters this summer have been so sweet, I know what a little Pagan you are. Sometimes I wonder if you have any conscience at all about me. If you have, I’ve not as yet discovered it, but--my heart is in your keeping. Mona Lisa has disappeared from my life.

Of course your Aunt is set on your marrying the Prince. That has been plain all along,--how did he behave in Paris?--but you, my darling, _who_ could have guessed whether or not you were ready to make up your mind to settle down? So I delayed asking you to marry me--in so many words. But now that we have quarrelled, I long to make up and have everything settled. There is no peace left your lover till he knows that you love him, once and always. This letter is serious because, beneath it all, I am serious.

Your letters have been the key-notes to my days, and when they have seemed confidential and affectionate, I have been very happy, and when they have been less enthusiastic, I have been troubled and cast down. So, they have enabled me to measure my own disposition. What I wish to write you is this; that everything I ever told you or have written you, was the truth.

I realize more and more as time goes on, and on, that my love goes back farther into the past than I had dared to acknowledge to myself.

One day, you appeared in Rome and were stopping at your sunny Palazzo. Over I went to see--your Aunt, of course. I recall so vividly just where you stood in the little room, how you came frankly forward to meet me, and how I made my call, with the Prince, whom I met on the street just outside your door.

Then at your apartment and out in society, I saw you often; when you came to dine with me, I determined just to be nice to you,--I know I was flirting with Lisa,--but I had a sort of pride that you should enjoy your stay in Rome, and wished to add what I could to it. I thought your Aunt would be gratified, and frankly, I liked you. I allowed myself to think that much.

Then came moments, Polly dear, when I felt a thrill, a glow, that I couldn’t explain. Can I ever forget that evening when we were together in the Coliseum, while the moon swam in the sky, and the great black chasm of the excavations yawned below us, while the shadowy ruins towered around and above us. I treasure in my heart the memory of the rollicking fun of the escapade at the Carnival Ball, the Veglione, with its confidences, and the privilege, too, of that drive from the Duchess of Sermoneta’s, through the narrow streets, across the bridge, when I saw you home, and those afternoons and evenings in the little room in the roof garden, one after another. Each seemed more wonderful and more complete to me, till that last night before you went away to Sorrento, when I first spoke words of love. I was overwhelmed and staggered, my pulses beat with a new strange gladness till I could scarcely see you. How I got back to my rooms, I have forgotten.

I had determined not to make love to you in Rome, but I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t help speaking as I did. Then came romantic days at Sorrento and Florence and those enchanting dream moments in Venice. Were they real, ah, tell me, were they true?

It is months now, dear, since we met in Venice. What perfect hours we had there! So completely happy. I can feel you near me, next to me, while far away, mysteriously, I seem even yet to hear the music and the love songs.

“And of all the happiest moments which were wrought Within the web of my existence, some From thee, fair Venice! have their colors caught.”

How bewitching you were! How unspeakably lovely the last evening was, and how I treasure every little confidence you made me, as we glided along over the placid lagoon, while about us rose the palaces, the campanile, the churches, balconies, and arches, reflected below in the mirroring waters. I could put out my hand and take yours, and turn and look into the wonder of your eyes, my Polly! Some days are immortal, the memory of them can never die. We may pass away, but still the thought of those moments will live forever, for they are divine and heavenly.

* * * * *

POLLY TO A. D.

_New York, November._

My A. D. Well, you are in a way mine now, aren’t you? How I hated all those horrid telegrams we sent each other, and what a long time I have gone without a letter from you.

I do know what I want! It’s you, you, but oh, things are so hard when it comes to facing down Aunt. It is not any open opposition--that would be something definite that I could fight, but she simply assumes that I don’t mean it when I say I am engaged, and sits bland and smiling, and pretty soon, makes a remark about Boris.

A. D., if you won’t come over soon to look after me, you’ve just got to take the risks. Don’t forget I’m a little Pagan, who does enjoy things, even the Prince. Come home and settle here at once if you love me as much as you say you do. I am so happy you sent the cable, because you are the only person in the world I love. So we are really engaged now and going to be married soon and live happily ever after?

You want to know what I did those few days in Paris? Well, by jinks, we were off on a shopping rampage most of the time. I went to Worth’s and ordered some pretty clothes--the prevailing colors this year are the hummingbird’s.

How did the Prince behave in Paris? On the whole very attentive, but once in a while just a bit difficult to manage. He brought with him a magnificent Russian wolf hound, who was very well-trained and would obey no one but his master. One day Boris invited us all to his apartment in the hotel to luncheon, but Aunt had such a bad headache that she left in the midst of it, taking Checkers along to see her safely back. He was going to return for me since we had more galleries to inspect. As soon as the lift with them in it had disappeared, Boris closed the door and smiled meaningly and when I asked him to open it, he shook his head. I started to open it myself when the wolf hound, who was lying before it, growled. First I thought it was a joke, but when I saw the queer look in my host’s eyes, a cold creepy feeling of fear came over me.

“Once before you were in my power,” he said, “in the stateroom on the _Cleopatra_. I, a fool, let you go. Now I got dog, no fool any more.”

Backing away from him, I laughed, hysterically, “I came here to eat and not to make love.”

“Did you?” he inquired, putting his face down close to mine and taking hold of my shoulders.

I stared straight back at him, saying, “I am not afraid either of you or your old dog.” At that moment, thank heaven, the door opened and in came the waiter. I dashed out and downstairs, Boris following me and protesting that he was only trying to make a little fun, but I am not sure. Aunt says I made a fuss over nothing, and insisted that we all go together to the circus with him that night, but you may be sure I hung onto Checkers pretty closely. However, the Prince pointed out to me the girl on the trapeze, the same one you had admired in Rome. She was very beautiful--I am a little jealous for she looked like Mona.

Boris and I rode several times together and one day jumped our horses in the Bois, much to the amusement of a female seminary that was passing. I had a fine time and thought how the people at home would laugh if they could see me--such a change was my smart riding habit from my old duds at the farm, and with a Prince. Then the other day he took me to the Luxembourg gallery to look at a curious sculpture of the sphinx--the head of a beautiful woman on the body of a lioness, with a man in her clutches, just their lips touching, everything thrown away for that one kiss. It made me think of some verses I read the other day,

“Inviolate and immobile, she does not rise, she does not stir, For silver moons are naught to her, and naught to her the suns that reel. Come forth, my lovely seneschal! So somnolent, so statuesque! Come forth, you exquisite grotesque! Half woman and half animal! And did you talk with Thoth and did you hear the horn-mooned Io weep? And know the painted kings who sleep beneath the wedge-shaped pyramid? Lift up your large black satin eyes which are like cushions where one sinks, Fawn at my feet, fantastic Sphinx! and sing me all your memories! A thousand weary centuries are thine while I have scarcely seen Some twenty summers cast their green for Autumn’s gaudy liveries.”

The Prince said he believed I was somewhat like her. I told him indignantly I wasn’t, but maybe I am ... and he tells me I _was_ the cause of the duel!

* * * * *

A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, November._

The top o’ the marnin’ to ye, Polly Darlin’! It would be very inappropriate, wouldn’t it, if this came to you by evening delivery? At any rate it is the top o’ the marnin’ here in Rome, and I am pretending you are right next to me, my kitten-sphinx, and I’m greeting you with a morning kiss in token of our peace, or is it an armistice? Your letter makes me happy and yet your remarks about the Prince trouble me. There is, however, one clear way out of your difficulties, and that is to make our engagement known at once to everyone. I do not want to urge the point too strongly, but doesn’t it seem that circumstances have combined to make an announcement desirable?

Putting aside all consideration of what people may say or think, I feel it would be franker, more dignified, more true to yourself, to others, to me, that the relation between us should be told. All kinds of complications will arise if we keep it secret. Do not act hastily on receiving this. Think it over carefully. Oh, I love you, Polly, with my whole soul! But I can’t come home at once; my friend Charlton is now seriously ill and Embassy matters are tied up. Under the circumstances, I am glad you left Paris when you did. Did Boris see you off?

How bustling and busy your getting away from the hotel must have been,--the drive to the station through the gay streets, the excitement at the train, the helter-skelter of passengers and porters with their bags, baggage, boxes, baskets, and rugs. Then the steamer, the good-byes, the buzz of the engine, the splash of water and a realization at last that you were homeward bound!

It will seem odd to hear about Rome now that you are in America, about the streets yellow with flooding sunshine, and crowded with carts from the Campagna, and cabbies on their rattletrap carriages cracking their whips and crying “ah!” in deep guttural tones at their horses, instead of saying “Whoa!” or “Gee up!” in the proper American way.

Early one afternoon Charlton and I started out in an ancient cab and a decrepit horse to go to the Piazza San Pietro, or perish in the attempt. I had the enthusiasm and he the perseverance. Indeed we took turns in exhibiting these qualities, for there came a time when he was enthusiastic and I persevered. There were moments when the old horse went so slowly that we thought he would never get there, but the driver used the whip encouragingly. Finally we reached St. Peter’s, surrounded by its huge colonnade, with its splashing fountains, went up the broad terrace steps and beneath the great _loggia_, and into the overwhelming interior with its vast distance, out of all proportion to anything else in the world.

Inside the people were kissing the toe of St. Peter, while crowds walked about and men were hammering away until the whole place resounded with the work of putting up tribunes for some ceremonies. But a great shaft of yellow sunshine came streaming down from the dome, making the gloom golden, and above the hum of voices could be heard the Pope’s angel chanting beautifully.

When I came out and looked over toward your palace and saw the tops of the plants of the garden on the terrace, I could not resist going in to see Peppi. You know he has lately taken your old apartment, in memory of your Aunt, I suppose. Up the stairway we climbed till we came to the door and rang. There was a great rattling of chains and unbolting of locks; the door finally opened and we were told he was home. He asked us to take pot luck with him, so we went up first on the terrace and examined the roses, some poor weedy sunflowers, and a few little pansies that looked pleadingly up at me while I stood in the corner of the terrace where you stood that last night, Polly.

The sky was glorious; the sun had gone down and St. Peter’s and the huge pile of the Vatican, with only here and there a twinkling light in the darkness of the massive building, loomed up in silhouette against a heaven of delicate brown which shaded into pale green. Above us in a pure vault of blue, the crescent moon floated, all silver, while in the opposite horizon, over the Alban Mountains and the Appenines, great banks of clouds rolled up, black and threatening beneath, reflecting the afterglow above, while forked lightning played ceaselessly through them. Later the façade of the cathedral became outlined in lights, although the dome was left in blackness, and all the Borgo was hung with paper lanterns and was very gay and bright. But I felt lonely without you.

D. V., it will not be long before I reach home! Already I can see the beautiful bay, the boats passing and repassing, and the arrival of Quarantine and Custom officials. The great city--greater New York--faintly appearing through the morning mist, and the huge buildings towering above the fog, like a city in the clouds. We pass the statue, the busy ferry boats hurry beneath our great bow and--ah, Polly, I must confess my eyes are tearful with the excitement and happiness of the thought. My great anxiety to be with you should carry the ship more quickly, though alas, in this practical age, it depends more on the quality of the coal than on the burning anxiety of a lover.