-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 fo