Just back from Louisville and staying here for a couple of days before starting for Canada. I am chuckling to myself and wondering how the Prince and Aunt will like it, for they’ve never been camping before. And I’m chuckling about something else, too. As soon as your letter came, I ordered the invitations engraved, writing on from Louisville to the stationer’s. Aunt has continued blandly obstinate, and deep down in her heart she is still intending that this trip will give Boris his best chance to make me change my mind--but we will see. I asked her if we could be married as soon as you came back. She tightened up her mouth with a crisp, “No!” Nevertheless, she can’t stop me; I’m of age. Then what do you think we did, Sybil, Checkers, and I? We went to our Rector--your father’s old friend, you know he thinks everything of your family--and he said he’d perform the ceremony. So we’ve secured the church. We ordered the music and decorations--crimson azaleas. Just an hour ago while Aunt was wrestling with a few last details regarding the trip, Checkers took a traveling bag, filled it with the invitations I had been surreptitiously addressing, and we went out and mailed them, dancing around the mail-box till passers-by thought we were utter lunatics. Oh, A. D., do for goodness’ sake come home! I am so tired of waiting, it seems as if it was impossible to stand it much longer. Don’t you hope and pray we will live happily together? I wish we were married now, that it was done, for in a way I do dread it. All I want is that we may go far off into some little nook in the woods by ourselves away from people. Forgive this dismal letter but somehow everything makes me sad tonight. Boris upsets me, I don’t know why. But I won’t be so any more after you arrive. Do hurry. But there’s one more thing, A. D., before this letter closes. The Rector said I must tell Aunt our plans, and I promised to. I did try, without any success, however. As we shall be traveling, she won’t see the acceptances for some time. When I think of the inevitable interview, I shake in my shoes. You’ll come dashing in, though, won’t you, and rescue me? * * * * * POLLY KEEPS A JOURNAL LETTER FOR A. D. _Island Lake, Algonquin Park, Canada._ No nice fat Embassy letter was waiting for me at the hotel, I am sorry to say, but Aunt says we shall have time enough to get mail after the camping-trip, so there was nothing forwarded for any of us. I am going to keep this note-book with me and make a kind of diary, so as to jot down everything that happens. A glorious morning; we started off with guides, tents, and canoes, and paddled through Cache Pond to Island Lake, our first camp, with only two short carries. Boris insisted on having me and a guide in his canoe. I won’t say I haven’t been flirting, but when my conscience pricks me, I think of Mona Lisa in Rome with you, and go at it again. Now aren’t you sorry?