Part 9

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?

* * * * *

PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY

_New York, March. Telegram._

Oh how happy I am to think I shall see you once again. Shall be with you tomorrow.

* * * * *

POLLY TO A. D.

_New York,_ _March._

I’m getting desperate. It is impossible to write you how I feel or why, but I’m so alone except for Checkers. He said today, “Why young ’un, you’re getting restless,” and so I am. The Prince arrives tomorrow--Aunt still continues to be queer about our engagement. So you think I really gave the lion to the Prince? And you are flirting with the dangerous Mona Lisa. Oh, everything seems topsy turvey!

* * * * *

POLLY TO A. D.

_Cable. New York, April 1st._

Breaking my engagement for reasons you can no doubt surmise.

_PART IV_

_THE PRINCE IN PURSUIT_

A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, April 1st._

On entering my room I saw a cable lying on my desk and eagerly sprang forward, tore it open, only to stagger back and sink into a chair, for it said, “Breaking my engagement for reasons you can no doubt surmise.” Your name was signed.

I have gone over everything. Perhaps you thought I was really flirting with the divorcée--perhaps the Prince has been at the bottom of this--maybe you have felt unduly wounded at my delay in returning, which you must know is not my fault.

Exactly what I intended to do I am not sure, but in my excitement I telephoned Lisa. She said, “Come over at once,” and I went. She knows absolutely no reason for your action, and begged my forgiveness if she had unwittingly caused trouble between us. Thank Heaven there is one loyal woman. Oh! Polly my Pagan, is it the Prince?

* * * * *

A. D. TO POLLY

_Cable from Rome, Evening, April 1._

Another cable was brought me late tonight. “April Fool!” it read. Thank God. Polly, don’t do that again.

* * * * *

A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, April 2d._

Your dear cablegram came this morning begging my forgiveness. You have it, dearest, absolutely. Evidently somebody’s little conscience troubled her about her naughty message of April first. You’ll get, I fear, a pretty sharp letter which ought not, however, to offend you. Anyway the last cable made me happy, and yet another, telling me that the Senate had confirmed the nomination of the new Ambassador, made me happier still and my heart lighter than it had been for weeks. At least, someone is coming now.

But we’re doing the only thing to be done under the circumstances, and my Polly, I know, expects every man to do his duty, doesn’t she? I shall be home by May, you can be sure, even if I have to resort to the desperate measure of deserting my post. But that would be a hard step to take.

Yesterday I went about a bit--that is, this earthly shell of mine did, while my heart and soul were with you, dear--first to take luncheon with Peppi and to look at his curious copies of old masters. Do you know, he has even taken to painting them on wood, exactly like the fifteenth century--and his own Mona Lisa is uncannily like the one in the Louvre. I told him so and he looked queerly at me. Some had been boxed for sending and whose name do you think was blackly lettered on them? The Prince’s--and the address somewhere down on New York’s east side. Curious, isn’t it?

I didn’t stay long, being too distracted (my nerves are so strung up, they make me the worst company in the world). So I wandered home through the beautiful sunny streets, down past the foot of the Spanish steps where we used to meet, past the fountain and the flower-sellers. Write soon, won’t you?

* * * * *

POLLY TO A. D.

_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?

* * * * *

A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, April._

Sweetheart, on coming home I found a letter from the new Secretary who is leaving Washington for Rome even before the Ambassador. I am going to pack up at once and be ready to start as soon as he arrives. Now you can settle on some date towards the end of May for the wedding.

Hurrah! Gilet shall go around and get my bills in to pay them, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker. There must be some official cards printed with a little p.p.c. in the lower left-hand corner ready to leave. I must look up the dates of sailings of the ships for home, say goodbye, give a lot of tips to porters, ushers, chambermaids, _sommeliers_, and go to the station and so to you!

Peppi, who, I believe, is more and more hopelessly in love every day with the lady Lisa, got up a party for her, and invited some painters, sculptors, a few Dips and their wives, all to drive out for tea at the excavation of the Villa Olivia. We met at the foot of our Spanish Steps, and drove through the Porto del Populo across the Campagna, along the valley of the Tiber by Cività Castellana, to the Villa standing on a hill. After our tea and little cakes, we romped through a wild Virginia reel. I danced with Mona while Peppi, sick with jealousy, stared sombrely at me as if he wished to tuck a _stiletto_ beneath my fifth rib. It was a relief to come away, though, for the lady’s gray eyes glittered when she asked me what further news you had deigned to give me regarding your flirtation with the Prince. I trust my Polly.

* * * * *

PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY

_Washington, April._

You ask me what I do--and what I think of North America? I busy and do much work, travel and not think of any girls but you. Men I see in street, without mustache, wear glasses, have dentist fill mouth with gold, rush about madly and speak, “What say?” and “Sure!” and “Do tell,” wear celluloid collar and ready-made suit and hang big cigar from corner of mouth and--spit! Excuse my funs, dear.

People are lavish if you are Prince, turn somersaults on top of each other to entertain you, but of foreigners suspicious more or less. All American women have too much freedom and know too well how to flirt, and too pretty they are for the heart of a man. Most of the men are uneducate in art and languages and such things; they only know business and politics.

Many buildings are handsome like in Paris and Berlin, but the cities rising into the sky are astounding, abominable. The country and the mountains so very beautiful, they are create to be a home for you, my little wild bird.

Perhaps you not like me say such things but you ask me. I travel now again from place to place. Your army is small, and your big guns burst by each fire. Soon I will be with you at Louisville. Please tell your Aunt that I kiss her hand, and your little hands, I kiss both.

* * * * *

POLLY TO A. D.

_Louisville, Ky., April._

Such a wonderful trip as we have had on the train! We are now in the land of the clayeaters, moonshine, and mountain feuds, in the region of blue grass, fast horses, and pretty women. Every man is a colonel and every woman a cousin. Our days are filled with hearty handshakes and racy stories, our mouths cooled with mint juleps in silver frosted cups, and our appetites satisfied with beaten biscuits and other delicious Southern dishes.

Sports from all over the country have gathered here for the great Derby--forty thousand or more were at the races--such a mixed crowd, men in checked suits, painted ladies, blacks, whites, all together. First we watched them making bets, then we strolled into the paddock to see the race-horses being led round and round in an enclosed ring, covered with blankets so that only their beautiful heads and bandaged legs could be seen. Each one had his pony or stable companion, as he is called. We hung over the railing and I did love it. Such a variety of names the horses had--By Golly, Up Shot, Bungo Buck. The great race we watched from a box in the grand stand. There was much excitement, cheering, clapping, and money changing hands. On came the horses round the track, faster and faster, till Speed Limit unexpectedly won the race, leaving some people very sad and others wildly hilarious.

Checkers has won--not money on the races--but something else. And what? A girl! Guess if you can--Sybil! ! ! And she is the dearest girl in the world. Checkers is in kingdom come; he declares, “She’s as pretty as a pair of pink boots and as enticing as a glass of Kentucky moonshine. I can go to the races and lose; I can pick a horse with nothing but a mane and a tail; can’t pick a clown in a circus, but I can pick a blue-eyed doll all right!”

How did he ever do it? Why, those two scamps pretended, just to amuse each other and everybody else, to have a mock engagement--Checkers called it a “trial hitch.” He says it worked like magic and they’re onto it for all time and that you must give him “the glad hand.” But oh, how unexpected for the rest of us--they’ve known each other for years. Seeing them so happy together makes me very lonely, A. D. I am glad to hear the new secretary has started over.

The house where we are staying is quite beautiful--of gray stone built in the château style, surrounded by formal gardens and terraces with fountains and statues. Mrs. Courtney serves mint juleps every afternoon in the gallery where superb tapestries hang on the walls, and the enormous stone fireplace has logs as big as trees burning in it. The German Ambassador, an old friend of Boris’, by the way, is here, and also some racing swells.

Boris and I took a walk in the garden today and he pretended to tell me the story of his life, how his father was a Russian, his mother a German countess,--how he had lived in St. Petersburg till his father died,--how (and then he became vague), he wandered from place to place, but perhaps you know all this. He is passionately fond of horses, “me much Cossack” he said, whereupon I proposed a ride.

My mare pulled a good deal and Boris tightened the bit, but as we galloped along, both our mounts became excited and went faster and faster. Nearing a sharp corner, I sang out a warning to the Prince who was just behind. Then, suddenly his horse stumbled and fell. My mare stopped for I turned off the road into a brook. Looking back, I saw Boris lying on the ground very still, the horse standing by.

The terrifying thought swept over me that he had been killed and it was my fault, but he was only stunned and his face considerably cut and scratched. Though pretty well knocked out, Boris was game enough to mount again, so back we rode. He is going to wear a scar, but says it is nothing to the wound I have made on a more vital organ. Rather neat, don’t you think so? Of course I have to be extra sweet to him on account of the accident.

We had great fun at dinner, just a series of jokes and laughs. Afterwards Mrs. Courtney went to the piano and we danced and danced till the clock struck twelve. The whole house is like fairyland, it is so wonderful, and oh, there’s a winding secret stairway that is very mysterious. I can’t make out where it comes from or where it goes, but in one place Mrs. Courtney can suddenly emerge into the library by slipping back a concealed panel. The Prince is greatly intrigued with it; I surprised him as he was trying to make a diagram of its wanderings.

Aunt is still adamant against our marriage. She says I’m to wait till we return to New York before even talking wedding or dreaming of setting a date. But she doesn’t know what I’ve done! And that is, I’ve despatched you a cablegram, suggesting the thirty-first of May, tra-la! And added Checkers’ news. No more tonight, for I’m sleepy, dear.

* * * * *

A. D. TO POLLY

_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.

* * * * *

POLLY TO A. D.

_New York, May._

Just back from Louisville and staying here for a couple of days before starting for Canada. I am chuckling to myself and wondering how the Prince and Aunt will like it, for they’ve never been camping before. And I’m chuckling about something else, too. As soon as your letter came, I ordered the invitations engraved, writing on from Louisville to the stationer’s. Aunt has continued blandly obstinate, and deep down in her heart she is still intending that this trip will give Boris his best chance to make me change my mind--but we will see. I asked her if we could be married as soon as you came back. She tightened up her mouth with a crisp, “No!” Nevertheless, she can’t stop me; I’m of age.

Then what do you think we did, Sybil, Checkers, and I? We went to our Rector--your father’s old friend, you know he thinks everything of your family--and he said he’d perform the ceremony. So we’ve secured the church. We ordered the music and decorations--crimson azaleas. Just an hour ago while Aunt was wrestling with a few last details regarding the trip, Checkers took a traveling bag, filled it with the invitations I had been surreptitiously addressing, and we went out and mailed them, dancing around the mail-box till passers-by thought we were utter lunatics.

Oh, A. D., do for goodness’ sake come home! I am so tired of waiting, it seems as if it was impossible to stand it much longer. Don’t you hope and pray we will live happily together? I wish we were married now, that it was done, for in a way I do dread it. All I want is that we may go far off into some little nook in the woods by ourselves away from people.

Forgive this dismal letter but somehow everything makes me sad tonight. Boris upsets me, I don’t know why. But I won’t be so any more after you arrive. Do hurry.

But there’s one more thing, A. D., before this letter closes. The Rector said I must tell Aunt our plans, and I promised to. I did try, without any success, however. As we shall be traveling, she won’t see the acceptances for some time. When I think of the inevitable interview, I shake in my shoes. You’ll come dashing in, though, won’t you, and rescue me?

* * * * *

POLLY KEEPS A JOURNAL LETTER FOR A. D.

_Island Lake, Algonquin Park, Canada._

No nice fat Embassy letter was waiting for me at the hotel, I am sorry to say, but Aunt says we shall have time enough to get mail after the camping-trip, so there was nothing forwarded for any of us. I am going to keep this note-book with me and make a kind of diary, so as to jot down everything that happens.

A glorious morning; we started off with guides, tents, and canoes, and paddled through Cache Pond to Island Lake, our first camp, with only two short carries. Boris insisted on having me and a guide in his canoe. I won’t say I haven’t been flirting, but when my conscience pricks me, I think of Mona Lisa in Rome with you, and go at it again. Now aren’t you sorry?

The events have begun. We struck a nice little run of rapids, and just when we got to the deepest part, the canoe slewed, hit a rock, and then over it went, and we with it. The next thing I knew, someone was dragging me up, blinking, choking, spluttering. I opened my eyes to behold my rescuer, the Prince! Don’t you think, A. D., I should be properly grateful to him? He saved my life--without an instant’s hesitation, Aunt says. So you see you owe your future wife’s very existence to him. I’ve _got_ to be sweet to him, haven’t I?

It is now near the end of our first day in the wilderness. I do nothing but think how good it will be to see you again. I would like so much to be in New York to greet you on the dock, but instead I’m paddling with the Prince.

First day’s remarks by the party:

Sybil: “Oh! Ah! Heaven!”

Checkers: “Bully!”

Prince: “Bozhe moi!” (Whatever that means.)

Aunty: “This box has got soap! Not eggs!”

Polly: “I’m game for the next event!”

For supper we had beans, flapjacks, and tea. For beds, fir balsam.

I think that Aunt and Boris prefer the comforts of home. The Prince certainly has her ear, and when I surprise them in one of their long and confidential interviews, they act like a couple of arch-conspirators. But he is very nice just now and it is my last chance for a fling, isn’t it?

* * * * *

We had a carry to Lake Kootchie, the second day, then a long portage and four miles of paddling to the end of Big Smoke this morning, and ended the day at Lake Bear. Checkers and Boris played cards on making camp, and after gambling for a while, it looked as if the Prince saw things were not going his way, so he stopped to arrange his fishing tackle. Checkers screwed up his eyebrows at me and winked.

For supper--pea-soup, fish, and prunes.

Second Day’s remarks:

Sybil: “The loons are so jolly. I want to take one home.”

Checkers: “Every minute I like it better.”

Aunt: “The beds are so hard--sno-r-r-r-r-oh!”

Prince (gazing soulfully at me): “To rescue beautiful ladies--ah, it is heaven.”

Confession: I let the Prince kiss my hand. After all, he saved my life, you know. You weren’t here and I had to have somebody kiss it.

* * * * *

Breaking camp at seven-thirty a short but pretty portage brought us to the three Bonnecherre and then to Lake Rod and Gun where we are now tenting. Butter-ball ducks flew by on the way, and we saw a few partridges and deer, but not much big game, for moose are farther north. Last night was an eventful one; wolves howled, the wind blew, the rain descended. Suddenly our tent fell down amid loud cries for help. Boris came to our rescue, but tripped over a rope and stood on his head from whence issued a flood of Russian. Which, if I could have understood it, would probably have paralyzed me for a week. Later a muskrat came and ate up all our chocolate.

Third Day’s remarks at supper:

Aunt: “Oh, but I’m so tired! I didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

Checkers: “I’m hungry! I’d like to be the muskrat.”

Sybil: (Holding his hand under cover of her poncho) “I’m a frozen dog, but I’m having the time of my life.”

Prince (_sotto voce_): “Only forty-eight hours more.”

Polly: “Can’t be too few for me.”

_Later._

A. D., I’ve made an awful mistake! I was too good to the Prince and he took advantage of it. In fact he was pretty naughty. You see he thought we were quite alone this afternoon, the others had gone fishing, and before I knew what he was doing, he entered my tent and had me in his arms, kissing my hair, my eyes, my mouth. I screamed and one of the guides ran in. Boris cursed him for interfering, so I simply asked the man to remain. There was nothing for the Prince to do but walk out. Then the guide looked at me funnily and said that the canoe didn’t tip over that time in the wind, that Boris had hired him to upset it, the spot being fairly shallow and perfectly safe. Apparently our Russian wanted to get the credit of an heroic rescue. So you were right after all. He’s not to be trusted.

Also, there is a very queer thing that your little Sherlock Holmes has just discovered. He’s had letters come to him over another name, not in the least like his own. They fell out of his pocket when he was struggling with me. I picked them up--one was marked up in the corner with the name of some antique dealer. Can Boris be selling Peppi’s pictures? Is that the mysterious “business” that takes him from one big city to another? When you get back to Washington, ask about him at the Russian Embassy. Oh give me a good straight American man, say I!

We’re about a hundred miles north of Toronto now. One day more and then we leave for home.

* * * * *

Fourth Day. A gray mist and an early start. I insisted on going in Checkers’ canoe. Boris and I are not speaking. Our two mile portage led to Rock Lake. Saw a bear and caught some trout and bass for supper. Railway in sight. To celebrate our last meal we indulged in a bonfire, had soup and a welsh rarebit, and gambled late into the night by the light of candles stuck into broken bottles.

Fourth Day’s Remarks:

Aunt: “Fiddlesticks! What’s all this trouble about?”

Checkers: “Bow wow.”

Sybil: “Meow, meow.”

Polly: (Silence.)

Prince: (More silence.)

* * * * *

Fifth Day. This morning the tents came down, fishing tackle was put away, clothes shoved into the duffle bags for the last time. We paddled across the lake to the hotel. Closing remarks by the Party:

Aunt: “Camp generally becomes passably comfortable just as one nears the end of the trip.”

Prince: “How I love the railway.”

Sybil: “At the end of the last carry, still carrying on!”

Checkers: “Prince Tripp tripped up--a spring trip! Polly’s eyes have been opened.”