Your letter came yesterday telling of your visit to Black Horse Farm, and as for spending our honeymoon there, it would be a bit out of Paradise! But don't, Polly, don't, I beg of you, put off announcing your engagement in New York. Think of the position it puts me in; as you know, Rome is all agog with it. Ask your Aunt frankly why she is so hesitant. Apparently she liked me, and she offered no objections in Europe to what she must have known was coming. In any case she cannot force you to accept the attentions of the Prince.

I wish, dearest, you might have been at the diplomatic reception at the Court, at the Quirinal, the other evening. How sweet you would have looked in your Court dress! I was overwhelmed, absolutely overwhelmed by congratulations and good wishes. Even the ministers and chiefs of missions seemed to know of my great happiness and took the occasion to say nice things. The world does indeed love a lover. When I reached my apartment I danced the Highland fling with two umbrellas crossed together for swords, and felt like sliding down the banisters, too!

At Court the reception is always a very fine function; first to rattle through the entrance of the palace, across the court to the foot of the broad staircase where the big _portiers_ in red liveries salute and bow, then up the brilliantly-lighted, crimson-carpeted staircase to the huge _antecamera_ hung with tapestries, a vast chamber where a company of splendid _corazzieri_ in gleaming helmets and cuira.s.ses stand at attention and salute each Amba.s.sador.

The reception-room is magnificent, and there the diplomats in their uniforms, gaudy with all sorts of tinsel plaques, stars, crescents, and gold embroidery, stand about till the approach of the Royalties is announced. Then they bustle into line according to precedence--a procession that reaches around the room, each Amba.s.sador with his staff behind him. Thereupon the King and Queen arrive! They bow; we all bow. His Majesty shakes hands with the Amba.s.sadors, and makes conversation. One by one, the secretaries step forward and are addressed, while the Queen speaks only to the Chiefs of Missions.

Meanwhile the Ladies-in-waiting stand in a row arranged opposite; so do we all remain for over an hour and a half.

In conversation with Pan this evening he let it slip out that the Prince was going to America before long on a secret mission. I have no idea what he is up to. Don't delay, my sweetheart, in announcing our engagement--write me that you love me.

P. S. Really I do not know where Mona Lisa has gone, and I am interested in n.o.body but you, dear.

PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY

_Moscow, December._

A silver plate I send you for bread and cellar for salt, so do Russians give to the Tsar, the Little Father, in token of homage. As the Cossacks say, "Feed the mouth, the eyes will not be bashful." I make you gifts, in other words, and you will be ashamed not to look on me with kindness. Often I dream of your eyes, blue as lapis lazuli from the Urals.

From Rome comes news,--you engaged to American diplomat. I cannot believe serious--tell me not true. Lady from Virginia say once, often American girls engage to two, three men all same time--is it so? It may be. Turks and Chinese have several wifes, and lady Laplanders, they have several husbands, _n'est ce pas?_ Is it you write no more because you really serious engage? Your Aunt she say why no, of course; you not know your own mind. Peppi say she wish t.i.tle for you.

But I still wait that little Hummingbird welcome me to New York.

POLLY TO A. D.

_Black Horse Farm, Christmas Morning._

This morning, dearest, what should arrive but the most beautiful roses in the world from you, and in the toe of my Xmas stocking, I found a heavenly diamond engagement-ring! How can I ever thank you enough?

Polly is very proud and happy to wear it. Did Gilet put the little cuff links I sent in your sock, or perhaps you didn't hang one up in the chimney?

A. D., I love you madly--yes, I do, you can't know, you never will know how much. Every day I want to be with you. Whenever I have a good time I say to myself, "I wish my dear 'Dip' were here to enjoy it, too." America seems pretty empty with someone I love in beautiful Italy.

Aunt wants news of Peppi, says she hasn't heard from him lately. The Prince sent me a lovely present, and wants to know if you and I are seriously engaged.

I wish I could have seen you do the sword-dance! It takes a lot of courage to tackle Aunt and get her to go back with us to New York and tell of the engagement of a proud little Pagan to a dear diplomat.

Your father sent me a sweet letter from California.

A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, Christmas Day._

In my dreams last night were all sorts of Christmas things--home and mistletoe and you under it, my love. On my breakfast-tray this morning lay your lovely cuff-links. A thousand thanks,--I shall wear them every day.

The Christmas decorations at church were holly and palms. The greens were dotted with oranges and apples, the high pillars wreathed with ivy, the chancel and altar banked with flowers, for the Reverend Nevin is very artistic in his arrangement of such things. I was so full of grat.i.tude and thanksgiving, so placidly content that even when an awkward worshipper knocked my silk hat (Gilet's shining pride) on the floor and rumpled and broke it, I didn't mutter, or even think a wicked thing!

I said a little prayer for you, Polly dear. Then I hurried home, for there were so many things to attend to,--as Checkers would remark, "Merry Christmas, but not a dish washed!"

A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, December 31._

Tell your Aunt that Peppi is looking better but still far from well.

He will not stay in bed and take care of himself, but keeps on painting and painting behind locked doors. The endless rains this autumn have been bad for him, though he seems gay and talks a lot--calls me the birdcage, because I have caught the Hummingbird. For me the place is full of memories of you--the terrace, the sitting-room with the corner where you used to make tea, and where I would sit, falling deeper and deeper in love, hour by hour.

This is the last day of the dear old year, a year blessed as no other can be, for therein have I met my Polly, known her, loved her. Ah, old year, you have been good to me pa.s.sing belief! How many moments of supreme happiness have you given me, days of bliss with my beloved, nights of anxiety away from her, moments of doubt and fear, moments of heavenly exaltation.

Think of the mystery of the years! I was born the Lord knows when; you flew right down from heaven, and we loved so on this old earth. The last words I shall ever write in this year are--I love you, Polly!

POLLY TO A. D.

_New York, December 31._

It is seven o'clock here and I somehow feel that you are thinking of me--in Rome it must be midnight, the beginning of the New Year. If we could only hold hands for just one little minute, it would make me so happy. An hour ago I sent you a cable, so you'll get my message with your breakfast.

There's just a moment left in which to write a line before dressing for dinner. Then comes a ball to which I shall wear a frock all little fluttering iridescent draperies, suggesting an airy hummingbird. Sybil is spending the night here--it is months since I last saw her in Rome.

She is just as pretty and lively as ever, smoking cigarettes all the time and using the same exaggerated language,--that you're the handsomest man that ever existed, that I'm "the luckiest girl in Heaven or h.e.l.l." She's much excited over our betrothal and hopes we may live a million years and have a thousand children!

Sybil went with me to ask Aunt to put an announcement in the papers, to which my autocratic relative replied that she would see. Do you suppose your Polly will have any partners now that she is engaged? For rumors are leaking out, of course. Partners or no partners, if Aunt doesn't, I'll put it in the papers myself, I will!

You wouldn't believe it of me, would you, but I'm growing positively sentimental. Half the time I live in a dream with you, dear, thinking of you, wanting so much to please you, wondering what you would like me to do. The little forget-me-not enclosed, carries a kiss.

A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, New Year's Day._

I love you with all my heart! These are the first words that I write in the new year--just as you were the first thought in my mind as the bells chimed out midnight. G.o.d guard us, my own, during the coming months, and grant us His blessing!

New Year's Eve, the munic.i.p.ality sends a band to serenade the Emba.s.sies, a pretty custom, but I wandered over to your Palazzo instead, to Peppi's where we had a little supper and drank toasts to the old year and the new one, to you and your Aunt. "Here's to the ladies," sighed P.--"G.o.d bless 'em! We can't do anything with 'em, and we can't do anything without 'em."

At breakfast Gilet walked in on me with your cable of greetings in his hand, so you see how timely it arrived. Thank you, my Sweetheart, for the dear message which began our New Year. This morning is brilliant and a _bersaglieri_ regiment has just gone past on a quick-step with feathers waving, and the band of _carabinieri_ playing a lively air.

The movement and the music are entrancing but all is incomplete without you.