I’m grateful anyway for the dearest sweetheart in the world; that’s more than anyone else has! This morning the sun shining brightly into my room awoke me, and the day has turned out glorious, not a cloud in the sky. Don’t you hope our wedding-day will be like this? Louisa decorated the breakfast table and on it were some birthday gifts--a pair of pretty bedroom slippers, a work-bag from Grandmother (Ahem, I sew so much!) and a pretty cardcase from Aunt, and a little silver coffee pot, just big enough for two, from Checkers. Aunt sniffed when Checkers explained elaborately the two it was meant for. I believe she is still actually set on my becoming a Princess. And then! There lay two letters and a cable--all three from you. They got torn open first, even before I untied the great box that contained your roses. I put away the letters till I could take them off to my lair, to read and re-read secretly--such dear letters and such lovely flowers. I’d like to kiss you and tell you so this very minute, but you’re leagues and leagues away, so there’s something lacking to my birthday after all. After breakfast there was business to be attended to. Now I’m of age, Aunt is no longer my guardian. (Do you suppose she’s heaving a sigh of relief?) So forth I sallied into town with our business man, Mr. French--we went in a cab--quite improper, don’t you think? And at such an early hour! Well, we got to the office and were closeted together for ages and ages while he talked and talked and read and read again papers and documents, I signing them above and below and around about until my wrist ached. Then a man with a red stamp came in to help officiate till finally we got them all fixed up. After that Mr. French took me to a safe where there was a little tin box; here we put the precious papers with my John Hancock all over them, and after he had given me two keys, he left me. And what do you suppose I did? Having for the first time a little money of my own, I went to a jeweller and bought a very pretty ring--for Sybil. Now are you disappointed? Never mind. Something else was bought for somebody I won’t mention. On coming home I found, well! ! ! There are no words enthusiastic enough to thank you for the glorious great pearl on a chain to go about my neck. But you know that these few poor inadequate thanks come from my heart, and hidden somewhere in them are endless devotion and perfect faithfulness to you. * * * * * A. D. TO POLLY _Rome, March._ I enclose some photographs of the “meets” on the Campagna--of the pack and the huntsmen and tent, and a group of onlookers--the princess of San Faustino, the last Orsini, and Prince Solofra who seems to be scratching his head and meditating on the past glories of the great feudal families. Also one of your friends, Gonzaga, with the Countess he is going to marry.