ect one to be an ally. Oh
well, _I_ don't care, I'm not going to let my Christmas Eve be disturbed
by a thing _like that_; if one can call it a _Christmas Eve_ at all.
On Boxing Day, when he is to spend the evening here, I shall tell Hella
that I want to come to her and her grandmother. After all, I am glad she
has stayed in Vienna.

December 25th. Christmas Eve was _very_ melancholy. We all three got
Mother's picture, life size in beautiful green frames, for our rooms.
Dora sobbed out loud, and so I cried too and went up to Father and put
my arms around him. His eyes were quite wet; for he adored Mother. Only
Oswald did not actually cry, but he kept on biting his lips. I was so
glad that Dr. P. was not there, for it is horribly disagreeable to cry
before strangers. We _both_ got lovely white guipure blouses, not lace
blouses, then Aunt gave me a splendid album for 500 postcards, and
she also gave me an anthology which I had asked for. Brahms' Hungarian
Dances, because Dora would not lend me hers last year because she said
they were too difficult for me; as if _that_ were any business of hers;
surely my music mistress is a better judge; then some writing paper
with my monogram, a new en-tout-cas with everything complete, and hair
ribbons and other trifles. Father was awfully delighted with Mother's
portrait; of course we had not known that he was getting us life-size
portraits of Mother, and from the last photograph of the winter before
last we had quite a small likeness painted by Herr Milanowitz, who is a
painter, and who knew Mother very well--in colour of course. And we got
a lovely rococo frame to close up; when it is open it looks as if Mother
were looking out of the window. That was _my_ idea, and Herr Milanowitz
thought it _most original_. Dora considered it very awkward that he
would not take any money for it, but it made it possible for us to get a
much more elegant frame. After Christmas; for New Year, we are going
to send Herr M. some of the best cigars, bought with _our own_ money,
I wanted to send them for Christmas, but we don't know anything about
cigars, and we did not want to tell anyone because one can never know
whether one won't be betrayed and you will be told it is unintentional;
but that is not true, for when one betrays anything one has always
secretly intended to do so; and then one says it was a slip of the
tongue; but one really knows all the time. I can't write down all the
extra things that