as long as
it is not anything made of marzipan. That nearly gave us both away. For
when we were in the street Father asked me: Why did Hella say that about
marzipan? So I said quickly: Since she's been ill she has a perfect
loathing for sweets. Thank goodness Father didn't notice anything. But
I do hate having to tell fibs to Father. First of all I always feel that
he'll see through it, and secondly anyhow I don't like telling fibs to
him. The couch is lovely, a Turkish pattern with long tassels on the
round bolster. Father wanted to pay for it altogether, but I said: No,
then it would not be my present, and so I paid five crowns and Father
37. To-morrow early it will be sent to the Bruckners.

December 22nd. Hella is going home to-morrow. She has already been up
a little, but she is still so weak that she has to lean on someone when
she walks. She is awfully glad she is going home, for she says in a
hospital one always feels as if one was going to die. She's quite
right. The first time I went to see her I nearly burst out crying on the
stairs. And afterwards we both really did cry frightfully. Her mother
knows about the couch, but it has not been sent yet. I do hope they
won't forget about it at the shop.

December 23rd. Hella went home to-day. Her father carried her upstairs
while I held her hand. The two tenants in the mezzanin came out to
congratulate her and the old privy councillor on the second story and
his wife sent down a great pot of lilac. She was so tired that I came
away at 5 o'clock so that she could rest. To-morrow I'm going to their
Christmas tree first and then to ours. Because of Hella the Br's are
going to have the present giving at 5 o'clock, we shall have ours as
usual at 7.

December 26th. Yesterday and the day before I simply could not write
a word. It was lovely here and at Hella's. I shan't write down all the
things I got, because I've no time, and besides I know anyhow. Hella was
awfully pleased with the couch, her father carried her into the room and
laid her on the sofa. Her mother cried. It was touching. It's certainly
awfully nice to have got through a bad illness, when everyone takes care
of one, and when no one denies you the first place. I don't grudge it
to Hella. She's such a darling. Yesterday I was there all day, and after
dinner, when she had to go to sleep, she said: Open the drawer of my
writing-table, the lowest one on the right, and you'll find my diary
there if you want to