Polly the Pagan Part 12

_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 h.e.l.l?

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 d.u.c.h.ess 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 pa.s.s 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 a.s.sumes 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 amus.e.m.e.nt of a female seminary that was pa.s.sing. 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