August 25th. Hella was here to-day with her mother and Lizzi. Hella had a splendid time in Gastein. She wanted to have a private talk with me, to tell me something important. That made it rather inconvenient that Ada was still there. Hella never gets on with Ada, and she says too that one never really knows what she is looking at, she always looks right through one. We could not get a single minute alone together for a talk. I do hope Hella will be able to come over once more before she goes to Hungary. Last week they went to Fieberbrunn in Tyrol because an old friend of her mother’s from Berlin is staying there.
August 26th. Ada went home to-day, her father came to fetch her. He says she has a screw loose, because she wants to go on the stage.
August 28th. Hella came over to-day; she was alone and I met her at the steam tram. At first she did not want to tell me what the important thing was because it was not flattering to me, but at last she got it out. The Warths were in Gastein, and since Hella knows Lisel because they used to go to gym. together, they had a talk, and that cheeky Robert said: Is your friend still such a baby as she was that time in er . . . er . . ., and then he pretended he could not remember where it was; and he spoke of that time as if it had been 10 years ago. But the most impudent thing of all was this; he said that I had not wanted to call him Bob, because that always made me think of a certain part of the body; I never said anything of the kind, but only that I thought Bob silly and vulgar, and then he said (it was before we got intimate): “Indeed, Fraulein Grete, I really prefer that you should use my full name.” I remember it as well as if it had happened this morning, and I know exactly where he said it, on the way to the Red Cross. Hella took him up sharply: That may be all quite true, we have never discussed such trifles, and, at that time we were “all, every one of us, still nothing but children.” Of course she meant to include ——. I won’t even write his name. Another thing that made me frightfully angry is that he said: I dare say your friend is more like you now, but at that time she was still quite undeveloped. Hella answered him curtly: “That’s not the sort of phrase that it’s seemly to use to a young lady,” and she would not speak to him any more. I never heard of such a thing, what business is it of his whether I am developed or not! Hella thinks that I was not quite particular enough in my choice of companions. She says that Bob is still nothing but a Bub [young cub]. That suits him perfectly, Bob—Bub; now we shall never call him anything but Bub; that is if we ever speak of him at all. When we don’t like some one we shall call him simply Bob, or better still B., for we really find it disagreeable to say Bob.
August 31st. The holidays are so dull this year, Hella has gone to Hungary, and I hardly ever talk to Dora, at least about anything interesting. Ada’s letters are full of nothing but my promises about Vienna. It’s really too absurd, I never promised anything, I merely said I would speak to Mother about it when I had a chance. I have done so already, but Mother said: There can be no question of anything of the kind.
September 1st. Hullo, Hurrah! To-morrow Hella’s father is going to take me to K— M—in Hungary to stay with Hella. I am so awfully delighted. Hella is an angel. When she was ill last Christmas her father said: She can ask for anything she likes. But she did not think of anything in particular, and had her Christmas wishes anyhow, so she saved up this wish. And after she had been here she wrote to her father in Cracow, where he is at manoeuvres, saying that if he would like to grant her her chief wish, then, when he came back to Vienna, he was to take me with him to K— M—; this was really the greatest wish she had ever had in her life! So Colonel Bruckner called at Father’s office to-day and showed him Hella’s letter. To-morrow at 3 I must be at the State Railway terminus. Unfortunately that’s a horrid railway. The Western Railway is much nicer, and I like the Southern Railway better still.
September 2nd. I am awfully excited; I’m going to Vienna alone and I have to change at Liesing, I do hope I shall get into the right train. I got a letter from Hella first thing this morning, in which she wrote: “Perhaps we shall be together again in a few days.” That’s all she said about that; I suppose she did not know yet whether I was really coming. Mother will have to send my white blouses after me, because all but one are dirty. I’m going to wear my coat and skirt and the pink blouse. I’m going to take twenty pages for my diary, that will be enough; for I’m going to write whatever happens, in the mornings I expect, because in the holidays I’m sure Hella will never get up before 9; on Sundays in Vienna she would always like to lie in bed late, but her father won’t let her.
But whatever happens I won’t learn to ride, for it must be awful to tumble off before a strange man. It was different for Hella, for Jeno, Lajos, and Erno are her cousins, and one of them always rode close beside her with his arm round her waist: but that would not quite do in my case.
September 6th. Oh it is so glorious here. I like Jeno best, he goes about with me everywhere and shows me everything; Hella is fondest of Lajos and of Erno next. But Erno has still a great deal to learn, for he was nearly flunked in his exam. Next year Lajos will be a lieutenant, and this autumn Jeno is going to the military academy, Erno has a slight limp, nothing bad, but he can’t go into the army; he is going to be a civil engineer, not here, he is to go to America some day.
I have time to write to-day, for all 4 of them have gone to S. on their cycles and I have never learned.
It was lovely on the journey! It’s so splendid to travel with an officer, and still more when he is a colonel. All the stationmasters saluted him and the guards could not do enough to show their respect. Of course everyone thought I was his daughter, for he has always said “Du” to me since I was quite a little girl. But to Ada Father always says “Sie.” We left the train at Forgacs or Farkas, or whatever it is called, and Hella’s father hired a carriage and it took us 2 hours to drive to K— M—. He was awfully jolly. We had our supper in F., though it was only half past 6. It was a joke to see all the waiters tumbling over each other to serve him. It s just the same with Father, except that the stationmasters don’t all salute. Father looks frightfully distinguished too, but he is not in uniform.