still had
a lot of my August pocket money left, and now I've got only 40 hellers.
After we had had dinner and bought the things we lay about in the forest
or walked about in couples. I had curled myself up for a nap when some
one came up behind me, and when I sat up this _someone_ put his hands
over my eyes and said: "The Mountain Spirit." And I recognised _his_
hands _instantly_, and said: "Hero Siegfried!" Then he laughed like
anything and sat down beside me and said: "You were enjoying yourself
so much this morning that you had not even a glance to spare for me."
"Contrariwise (I've got that from Dora), I never foist myself on anyone,
and never _hang around anyone's neck_." Then he wanted to put his arm
round my waist (and probably, most probably, he would have kissed me),
but I sprang to my feet and called Dora or rather Thea, for before the
gentlemen we pretend that we never call one another anything but Thea
and Rita. Father says that that is awfully silly, and no longer suitable
for Dora (but of course it was alright for me!), but we keep to our
arrangement. Then he raised my hand to his lips and said: "Don't call!"
But Dora came up, and with her the gentleman with the pincenez, who is
a doctor of law belonging to the District Court of Innsbruck, and Marina
and one of the young men, and I asked, "I say, when _are_ we going to
have tea?" "Just fancy, she is hungry again already," they all said,
and laughed like anything. And Dora looked _frightfully_ happy. She was
wearing an edelweiss buttonhole which she had not been wearing before;
in the evening she told me that Dr. P. had given it her. If possible he
is even taller than Hero Siegfried, for Dora is taller than I am and her
head only comes up to his ear. At 3 o'clock the last party came up to
the belvedere, we had got there earlier. The view was lovely. But I must
say I can enjoy a fine view much better when I am alone, that is with
Father or quite a few persons; it is no good when there's such a crowd;
each additional person seems to take something more away. In a lovely
place and at the cemetery one must be alone. For a beautiful view
usually makes one feel frightfully sad, and one ought not to have been
laughing so much just before, or laugh directly afterwards. If I were
alone in Inner-Lahn I'm sure I should become melancholy, for it is so
gloriously beautiful there.

At 4 o'clock, after tea, we started back, for the schoolmaster thought
the descent would