This evening I went to the American Embassy--a large dinner of thirty or more people in a lovely big dining room, and with beautiful silver plates and then gold plates--the first time in my life I ever ate from gold plates. The Ambassador was specially nice to me. I tried to pump him about Mona Lisa but didn’t get much. I wish she would leave Rome. Our Dip is rather a puzzler--he just keeps me guessing. I don’t know whether he is engaged to the divorcée or not. I must admit she’s rather fascinating and she has had a sad history, he says. We went on to the Princess Pallavacini’s evening reception--he spent the entire time with Mona. Of course she and I didn’t speak or even bow. Aunt likes him but still prefers a titled foreigner every time. The Prince was at the reception, too, but I managed to spend most of my spare time flirting with Marquis Gonzaga; he talks a lot but is not so amusing as the Prince. Boris declares he is going to follow me about Europe. Aunt is taking us first to Sorrento and then Florence--after that, the Lord knows where! He is more ardent than ever, so I bet Checkers a hat I’d make Boris propose before I left Rome. I like him better than I did. Checkers says I’m getting used to foreigners. * * * * * PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY _Rome, February._ Darling Miss, Have you really decide not to let me follow you? If it so, your heart is darker than the Black Forest and you are more wicked as the bears that live there, and if one of those bears eat you, I will say, “So much the better.” But when they see you, I fear they will only lick your hands. Perhaps it is you do not understand the tender language of love belonging to the old countries, you who come from so far away new America? Maybe only way to make you love me is with the rough language of the savage and the hard hand of the brute. I would like to tear the delicate feathers off the hummingbird to punish her. _Bozhe moi!_ But I would like to beat you! It has been said once I resemble D’Artagnan and perhaps you are afraid of me, afraid of what Spaniards call a _furia francesa_. Perhaps you feel I carry you off like a hero of antiquity--Paris, I think--took Helena away. You are making game of me. I am very furious. I have try lately to console myself to find another woman, as much as it is possible like my hummingbird. I look but cannot find her. I have treasure long time the only thing I have had that was of you--the handkerchief. But today the handkerchief it is gone and not to be found. I have sorrow like for the loss of a dear friend. Here I am alone, with thirty people in the hotel, and not one of them hummingbirds. I am weary and think often of you. I would give them all for having you. * * * * * JOURNAL CONTINUED _Rome, March._