Although this letter may go by the same steamer that I sail on, yet I can’t help writing and sending you my love.
POLLY TO A. D.
En route,
May.
A. D., dearest, how exciting it must be for you about now, sighting from the steamer deck that low-lying Long Island shore, Sandy Hook, the channel, and beyond them, the beautiful bay. I can imagine your father going to meet you on the busy, snubnosed, important little tug,—but then, I think of so many things happening, for while we were camping and your letters stopped, “thinks” were all I had to live on.
We are flying at sixty miles an hour, nearer and nearer to you. After days of silence I found your two wonderful letters waiting for me when we got back to civilization. The clerk at the hotel said Aunt had given orders to hold them. I wonder if she did this on purpose, for surely they could have been sent in to us by a guide. The Prince was with me when I made my inquiries; I saw him trying to suppress a smile. But he does not like my ignoring him and he is getting a bit ugly. When I broke the news of Peppi’s marriage to Mona Lisa, both he and Aunt seemed disturbed, and Boris acted quite upset, and as if he had lost an ally. I left them talking it over. He certainly has Aunt hypnotized. My twin wagered he would try for her hand next.
Checkers and Sybil spend their time on the train shamelessly making love and telling me I must begin to inform Aunt about the wedding. I screwed up my courage an hour ago and began, “The Rector says he’ll perform the ceremony, Aunt—” but she broke in with “Whose ceremony?”
“Mine and A. D.’s,” I continued, trying to look determined.