We got to joking and he remarked he was love-proof. I wasn’t going to be behind in a matter like that, so I replied promptly that I was, too. “We can be awfully good friends, then, you and I,” he said; “it’s perfectly safe.” I decided then and there that I would just see how safe it was, for him, at least. I call him A. D. for American Diplomat, he’s so very promising a young secretary.
At the ball there were princesses, duchesses, and all that. I met a lot of them but saw more of Captain Carlo and A. D. than anyone else. I stayed until about two o’clock, and then came the question as to how I was to get home without any carriage, but my diplomat again came to the rescue. Prince Boris was not there. Aunt says hereafter I am to take Louisa with me.
Roman society is well worth seeing, but I like country life better with hunting and races and things like that. I concluded I wouldn’t go to the next party, and told the Prince so flatly when he asked me for the cotillion, but Aunt felt badly about it. I gave in and went. The favors were lovely—I got fifteen—and A. D. was there. He has invited us to dinner at his apartment. When he declared he was love-proof, I wonder if he meant he was engaged. He is devoted to a clever American divorcée, I hear. I will go for a walk with Sybil and talk him all over. She’s a dear and my best friend; it’s good to have her here in Rome this spring.
After a little drive on the Pincio, we dressed for A. D.’s party. He has the loveliest rooms. The Dutch Secretary, “Jonkheer Jan,” Lord Ronald Charlton, a British Secretary, very pale and thin, and the Turkish Ambassador, the latter with a red fez on his head, and his hands covered with jewelled rings, all were there. Afterwards we drove on to a ball. The Prince appeared but I didn’t want to talk to him, so when the gay little Spanish Marquis dashed up, I danced off and spent the rest of the evening in the conservatory. He’s a dear, with flashing black eyes, and curly hair, but a little too fat.
We stayed till dawn, and the long, long flights of stone steps at our Palazzo seemed longer than ever at that hour. A. D. is coming to see me tomorrow, and I don’t know why, but I don’t want to see him, either.
Aunt and I dined one night at the Grand with a big, wild-eyed American from Pittsburg. He is rather excitable and erratic, but he cuts quite a swath here. It was a magnificent dinner with all the Roman swells, and I sat between Marquis Gonzaga and Captain Carlo and oh! what a funny time I had! Each tried to go the other one better, and the Marquis went a little too far. His broken Spanish-English allows him to say almost anything. When I am angry he pretends he doesn’t understand, so I pricked him with a pin in punishment and then he kissed me right there at table. I was so ashamed. These foreigners do the naughtiest things.
Captain Carlo is poor and Gonzaga is rich. The latter is a diplomat, a gambler and very quick-tempered, but most Spaniards are that. Carlo is an officer and a sportsman; he has some British blood. They are both delightful gay young devils. The Prince was there, too, and it was lots of fun to see him glower at the other men. He was very cross with Gonzaga and went home early. A. D. I saw only for a few moments; I like him even if he is calm and reserved beside the others. But he’s an American!
The dinner went on and on in numberless courses with plenty of wine. There were quantities of flowers with electric lights under them and not only was all Rome present, but they say people were there who didn’t even know their host by sight! Pittsburgo, as everybody calls him, who certainly does love big and costly festivities, had hired an orchestra. Then two other dinner parties joined his and we had a dance, the liveliest I ever went to, though it made me think of some jolly ones at home. We ran races and jumped chairs—a wild affair! I haven’t had such a good time for ages, even though A. D. and the Prince didn’t stay.