If the time-worn adage, in vino veritas, is to be
believed; it is certain that the wedding will not only take place
soon, but that the favorite nephew of the Czar of all the Russias
will himself appear in this charming romance of throbbing hearts,
playing the role of best man."
It was really too dreadful; my cheeks burned with mortification and
anger.
People had assured me the horrid little American newspaper published
in Paris was not typical of America--that it was no more than a paid
panderer to seekers after notoriety. Yet here in California, my own
dear California, a newspaper had dared print my picture without my
consent, had thrown its ugly light on the sweet story of my love
serving it up in yellow paragraphs for the benefit of the bootblack,
the butcher, the waiter in cheap restaurants. What a hideous world!
Pleading a sick headache, I stayed in my room till tea time.
We had tea at five, Blakely and I, on the roof of the hotel. I
looked across the channel to the distant islands, followed the sweet
contour of the shore, watched the aimless flight of sea-gulls;
turning, I scanned the friendly hills, the mountains painted in the
tender colors of late afternoon--I looked into Blakely's eyes.
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