Suzanne is our maid--the maid of Princess Naïa, of course--who walks
to and from school with me. I didn't wish her to follow me about at
first, but the Princess insisted, and I'm resigned to it now.
The Princess Mistchenka is such a darling! I owe her more than I owe
anybody except mother and father. She simply took me as I was, a
young, stupid, ignorant, awkward country girl with no experience, no
savoir-faire, no clothes, and even no knowledge of how to wear
them; and she is trying to make out of me a fairly intelligent and
presentable human being who will not offend her by gaucheries when
with her, and who will not disgrace her when in the circle of her
friends.
Oh, of course I still make a faux pas now and then, mon ami; there
are dreadful pitfalls in the French language into which I have fallen
more than once. And at times I have almost died of mortification. But
everybody is so amiable and patient, so polite, so gay about my
mistakes. I am beginning to love the French. And I am learning so
much! I had no idea what a capacity I had for learning things. But
then, with Princess Naïa, and with my kind and patient teachers and my
golden opportunities, even a very stupid girl must learn something.
And I am not really very stupid; I've discovered that. On the
contrary, I really seem to learn quite rapidly; and all that annoys me
is that there is so much to learn and the days are not long enough, so
anxious am I, so ambitious, so determined to get out of this wonderful
opportunity everything I possibly can extract.
I have lived in these few months more years than my own age adds up! I
am growing old and wise very fast. Please hasten to write to me before
I have grown so old that you would not recognize me if you met me.
Your friend,
Ruhannah.
* * * * *
The letter flattered him. He was rather glad he had once kissed the
girl who could write such a letter.
He happened to be engaged, at that time, in drawing several
illustrations for a paper called the Midweek Magazine. There was a
heroine, of course, in the story he was illustrating. And, from
memory, and in spite of the model posing for him, he made the face
like the face of Ruhannah Carew.
But the days passed, and he did not reply to her letter. Then there
came still another letter from her: Why don't you write me just one line? Have you really forgotten me?
You'd like me if you knew me now, I think. I am really quite grown up.
And I am so happy!