Polly the Pagan Part 15

_Later._

I have pa.s.sed the afternoon very quietly, for the news of Charlton's death today has shocked me so. Poor old fellow! Accordingly I only left a few cards officially and then went and sat a long time in the Church of the Jesuits where vespers were being sung. The building was outlined with candles, the effect fine, solemn and religious. The aisles were thronged with people while organ-music and singing rose and fell. Then I hurried back to my fireside, through the narrow crowded streets, across the Corso with its endless files of carriages, for the dread chill of Rome came on, and the men and women wrapped their cloaks about them.

Now that poor Charlton is gone, I am sending in my resignation to the President. I have decided to go into business, for a very good offer has turned up that I hope you will approve. Moreover, the Amba.s.sador himself dispatched his own resignation yesterday. Mine will follow close upon its heels "to take effect at the earliest convenience of the Department of State," and I added "an earnest request to be relieved of my duties at the first opportunity as private matters of an anxious and urgent nature call me home."

If the Department either loves me much or hates me much, it will let me off promptly. My feelings wouldn't be hurt if a cablegram should come marked _urgent_, and stating, "Your resignation accepted with pleasure, and to take effect _at once_," the last two words underlined. I'd knock over the tables and chairs, slam the doors, and go home so quickly that one wouldn't have time to say "Jack Robinson!"

Then I would cry, "Gilet! Gilet! Where in thunder are you, Gilet? Pack my things, throw them in helter skelter, pellmell, all in a heap. It doesn't matter--nothing matters, for we are going home!

Hip-hip-hurrah!" I am all excited at the mere thought. And if anyone wondered at this indecent haste ("Haste which mars all decency of act"), I'd say, "I am going back to my love," and they would never blame me.

POLLY TO A. D.

_New York, January._

Your photograph is beside me, and I have kissed it so many times today and every day that it would be quite worn out if it weren't for the gla.s.s in front. The separation has made my love for you grow stronger and finer, and shows me clearly that it is you and you only I love and want. The weeks since we became engaged have found me very happy in the knowledge that there was someone who would always take care of me, someone whom I would look up to and respect. I am behaving so well for me that soon I shall no longer be known as Polly the Pagan.

I was very sorry to hear of Lord Ronald Charlton's death, for I know you must miss him greatly. So you have sent in your resignation.

Splendid! I shall expect you shortly. Cable me when you leave.

Auntie says I ought not to announce my engagement here until you can set a definite date to return. Won't you do that for me?

A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, January._

Fi, fo, fum! I should indeed like to be at "hum." The days are becoming longer, and so I find my only happiness in thinking that before they begin to shorten again, I shall have come to you, my angel, to love and to hold and to cherish you forever. But meantime my letters are blue because I am blue, and I am a deep cerulean because you are so far off. Why, being away from you is enough to make me turn into a box of indigo. Blue indeed--I am Black!

To console myself I read and re-read your letters and daydream about the future. Yes, I shall come and as soon as the State Department will let me. It won't be long now--not long, though I cannot as yet set a date. I think May would be the prettiest time of the whole year to be married in, and then go (as you suggest) to Black Horse Farm, though n.o.body must know; afterwards we'll cruise slowly South down through the Spanish Main, across the Equator, skirting the coast of Guiana, past Brazil. We'll round the Horn together and see if we can find the Enchanted Isles and other heavenly ineffable places. What do you think of this plan, my darling?

Meantime, I have only your picture, as you have mine. In case you may like to see the arrangement of my habitation, I have sketched it for you. The little cross is where my altar is placed, the point to which your devotee turns, not twice or thrice or four times a day, as do the Mahometans toward their place of worship, but constantly in prayer and thanksgiving. Your photograph is my Mecca and you are my little Pagan G.o.ddess, part nymph, part naughty elfin sprite, and part some winged flitting creature out of a fairy mythology not as yet discovered. But here in this room you are my Lares and Penates--you are my Love.

Last night I said goodbye to your picture, and went off to the Court Ball, where I saw many of our fair compatriots. It was a fine sight.

It makes me think of what Mr. Dooley said, "at coort rayciptions th'

Amba.s.sadure iv England wore th' gorgeous unyform iv his station, th'

Amba.s.sadure iv France jingled with medals, th' American Amba.s.sadure looked like a detictive at a fancy ball." Three sides of the great room were lined with rows of people who all bowed and curtseyed as the King and Queen entered, while the orchestra played the Royal March.

The Queen danced in the Quadrille of Honor, and after that the music struck up the first waltz and the moment arrived when, it may interest you to know, I opened the Ball!

The Grand Master of Ceremonies asked me to dance with his daughter, and so, bang! out in front of all the people I walked on my trembling legs, bowed to her Majesty, and went across and asked the signorina.

Round and round the room we spun while all gazed upon us; at last some others took the floor and the ball was on! It was about the most trying thing that I have ever done; in fact we almost danced down the King and the wife of the Prime Minister, and a few other dignitaries who stood in our parabolic way. After things got started, I tried to dance with all the American girls present but it was warm work. The Queen and Mona Lisa, who has come back to Rome, to Peppi's intense joy--but don't tell your aunt--were probably the two most remarkable women there, both beautifully dressed, and they looked at each other, as ladies will. My last Court Ball!

But my troubles are not over, for our Amba.s.sador and his wife are to receive the King and Queen; so I have that to arrange. The legend is that the Queen has expressed a desire to go to the United States Emba.s.sy. It is going to make a lot of work, of course, for Their Majesties very seldom do this thing, though Emba.s.sies are, as you know, among the few places which may entertain them. It should be a fine function--the palace of our Amba.s.sador is so magnificent--and I hope it may be well done, though the preparation must needs be tremendous. Only certain people can be asked, and great state maintained. Oh, my darling, if you were only here to enjoy it!

A thousand invisible fibres are drawing me towards you ever and always. But Polly, I am beginning to be uneasy. I had hoped surely to go when the Amba.s.sador left Rome, but now he says very emphatically that it is my duty to stay here until a new secretary comes, and that is the reason I have not heard from the State Department. I am, oh, so disappointed. Trust me! Believe in me! Don't let this separation, this uncertainty bring about any misunderstanding between us, no matter how slight. I have fought off a feeling of foreboding all day. Love me, dearest, always.

PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY

_Moscow, February._

For America I start, though to Rome I must go on the way. I am flattered that you say you read our Russian authors. But read a little French poetry, too, some very beautiful but destructive to the morals.

My little blond rose, though very young, knows how to fish for hearts--the Parisian need not teach her that, for she has already caught many.

I have not written to you for days because you tell me you are engaged, but if so, why is it American Diplomat he not go to you soon like me? Is it a pretty divorcee holds him yet, as you say "with the come hither eye?" She is much _eprise_ of him, I hear. But I should not tell you this. That she has returned to Rome many weeks ago, you know already, yes? I kiss your hand.

A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, February._

Last night our Emba.s.sy Ball took place and the King and Queen came. It was quite stately, the Palace is so s.p.a.cious and imposing and the Royalties were very gracious. At the last minute while we stood waiting for the royal carriages to be announced, the French Amba.s.sadress arrived, saying that her lord had suddenly been taken ill with (literally) _un mal a l'estomac_. So the plans for the _Quadrille d'honneur_, which had been arranged with all sorts of finality during the days beforehand, had to be done over, and alas! by me. However, the invited guests had arrived, and the sheep separated from the goats. The Amba.s.sador and Amba.s.sadress walked down to the front door, beneath the vast entrance, while others of the official family stood at the head of the staircase. A red carpet was rolled out to the carriage and I had to go ahead and act as a sort of grand master of ceremonies. The Queen and the Amba.s.sador, the King and the Amba.s.sadress, followed by the Diplomatic Corps, moved down between the lines of curtseying people to the ball-room where a throne on a raised dais had been placed.

Gilet was stationed near the door so that I was able to signal to him and start the band playing the Royal March, followed by a few bars of the Star Spangled Banner. All stood until the Queen sat down. Then came the Royal Quadrille, as at the Court Ball, and the waltzes and "dancing in the barn" which Her Majesty wanted to see. At last Royalty made a move, and they were escorted to the little salon where a small table with two places had been set for the Queen and the Amba.s.sadress, and a small buffet at one side for the ladies of the court. The King stood and drank a gla.s.s of wine with the Amba.s.sador. Back again to the ballroom--I thought they would never go, but at last they departed, the host and hostess going down the stairs with Their Majesties between the banks of flowers to the carriage.

Then the great dining-hall with its lofty ceiling and glittering lights concealed in towering palm trees, was opened, for it was not etiquette to serve the guests with supper while the King and Queen remained. In a little while it looked as if a plague of locusts had pa.s.sed over the land. There was nothing left but bones and crumbs and gla.s.ses and empty bottles. I never before felt so glad when a thing was over! It has been a good deal of a strain for all of us.

This morning I feel like a boy just out of school. Although I only got to bed at dawn, my forty winks have rejuvenated me, and I am as chipper as can be. The echoes of the ball are very enthusiastic. It appears now that the other emba.s.sies are trying to get Their Majesties to go to them.

What do you think I am doing these afternoons? Why, riding horseback like a little man! It took me days to find a respectable (looking) horse, but at last I found at Ferini's, near the Borghese villa, a nice chestnut with two white stockings and a good deal of style when she frisks about. Peppi calls her Mona Lisa. So, in the afternoons, early or late, according to the amount of work I have to do, I may be seen sallying forth, and an hour later, returning, the horse fresh and without a hair unturned, but the rider pretty well done up.

But oh how I want to leave it all and come flying to you! Remember me courteously to your Aunt. Does she still think of Peppi?

POLLY TO A. D.

_New York, February._

Every night I read your letters over and over. You are my love and my sweetheart and I adore you. I can hardly believe such happiness is coming to me, for there never was anyone so dear in all the world, there never has been, there never will be. Your friends have been so kind to me and your father has sent me such nice letters.

Oh by the way, whom are you riding horseback with? Mona Lisa? Ahem, and the horse is called after her. So the gra.s.s widow is back in Rome, and Peppi, you say, is c.o.c.king his eye at her? I think Aunt is too busy with her charities lately to remember about her handsome artist with his wild hair. She no longer wears floppy artistic gowns, she really likes t.i.tles, and is getting quite excited over Prince Boris'

coming.

Now, A. D., I've got some news for you. Aunt just wouldn't formally announce our engagement, so I did! Yes, my dear! I sent a notice myself to the papers, chuckling as I wrote it. Now it's up to you. The only thing for you to do, I warn you, is to come over as quickly as you can and carry off your Pagan Polly, provided you still want her.

A. D. TO POLLY