Wanda was very kind, and brought me some secret coffee and bread and
butter to my room when I told her I had walked at least ten miles and
was too tired to go into supper. She cried out "_Herr Je_!"--which I'm
afraid is short for Lord Jesus, and is an exclamation dear to her--and
seized the coffee pot at once and started heating it up. I remembered
afterwards that German miles are three times the size of English ones,
so no wonder she said _Herr Je_. But just think: I haven't seen a
single boarder for a whole day. I do feel so much refreshed.

You know I told you in my last letter I was going to lunch with the
Koseritzes on Monday, and so I did, and the chief thing that happened
there, was that I was shy. Imagine it. So shy that I blushed and
dropped things. For years I haven't thought of what I looked like when
I've been with other people, because for years other people have been
so absorbingly interesting that I forgot I was there too; but at the
Koseritzes I suddenly found myself remembering, greatly to my horror,
that I have a face, and that it goes about with me wherever I go, and
that parts of it are--well, I don't like them. And I remembered that
my hair had been done in a hurry, and that the fingers of my left hand
have four hard lumps on their tips where they press the strings of my
fiddle, and that they're very ugly, but then one can't have things both
ways, can one. Also I became aware of my clothes, and we know how
fatal that is when they are weak clothes like mine, don't we, little
mother? You used to exhort me to put them on with care and
concentration, and then leave them to God. Such sound advice! And
I've followed it so long that I do completely forget them; but last
Monday I didn't. They were urged on my notice by Grafin Koseritz's
daughter, whose eyes ran over me from head to foot and then back again
when I came in. She was the neatest thing--_aus dem Ei gegossen_, as
they express perfect correctness of appearance. I suddenly knew, what