A. D., I love you madly—yes, I do, you can’t know, you never will know how much. Every day I want to be with you. Whenever I have a good time I say to myself, “I wish my dear ‘Dip’ were here to enjoy it, too.” America seems pretty empty with someone I love in beautiful Italy.
Aunt wants news of Peppi, says she hasn’t heard from him lately. The Prince sent me a lovely present, and wants to know if you and I are seriously engaged.
I wish I could have seen you do the sword-dance! It takes a lot of courage to tackle Aunt and get her to go back with us to New York and tell of the engagement of a proud little Pagan to a dear diplomat. Your father sent me a sweet letter from California.
A. D. TO POLLY
Rome,
Christmas Day.
In my dreams last night were all sorts of Christmas things—home and mistletoe and you under it, my love. On my breakfast-tray this morning lay your lovely cuff-links. A thousand thanks,—I shall wear them every day.
The Christmas decorations at church were holly and palms. The greens were dotted with oranges and apples, the high pillars wreathed with ivy, the chancel and altar banked with flowers, for the Reverend Nevin is very artistic in his arrangement of such things. I was so full of gratitude and thanksgiving, so placidly content that even when an awkward worshipper knocked my silk hat (Gilet’s shining pride) on the floor and rumpled and broke it, I didn’t mutter, or even think a wicked thing!
I said a little prayer for you, Polly dear. Then I hurried home, for there were so many things to attend to,—as Checkers would remark, “Merry Christmas, but not a dish washed!”