It has amused me to lead these foreigners all on, but it is dangerous to play with fire. Gonzaga remarked today, “My mother says me marry my cousin, a Spanish countess, but you, Miss Polly, you hear from me again.” As to foreigners in general and Prince Boris in particular, they certainly know how to flirt, but I wouldn’t trust them around the corner. They like to tell naughty stories and pretend they’re dead in love.
So the Roman season is over; the fun and the beaux and the parties and the drives on the Campagna are things of the past, things for me to remember when I’m old and gray. I’ve had a glorious time here and I’m sorry it’s ended, but Aunt says we must travel again, and I must study. The happy days for Checkers and me are over. I wonder if I will experience some day “une grande passion” as they call it over here and marry. Who knows?
I am not sure that I shall have much time to keep a journal after this for it seems as if I’d promised to write to half the men in Rome.
[PART II]
COURT AND COURTING
A. D. TO POLLY
Rome,