I don’t know why he thought me rich, seeing how ancient all my clothes are, and especially my blue jersey, which is what I put on because I can play so comfortably in it; except that, as I’ve already noticed, people here seem persuaded that everybody English is rich,—­anyhow that they have more money than is good for them.  So I told him of our regrettable financial situation, and said if he didn’t mind looking at my jersey it would convey to him without further words how very necessary it is that I should make some money.  And I told him I had a mother in just such another jersey, only it is a black one, and therefore somebody had to give her a new one before next winter, and there wasn’t anybody to do it except me.

He made me another little bow—­(he talks English, so I could say a lot of things)—­and he said, “My Fraulein, you need be in no anxiety.  Your Frau Mamma will have her jersey.  Those fingers of yours are full of that which turns instantly into gold.”

So now.  What do you think of that, my precious one?  He says I’ve got to turn to and work like a slave, practise with a sozusagen verteufelte Unermudlichkeit, as he put it, and if I rightly develop what he calls my unusual gift,—­(I’m telling you exactly, and you know darling mother it isn’t silly vainness makes me repeat these things,—­I’m past being vain; I’m just bewildered with gratitude that I should happen to be able to fiddle)—­at the end of a year, he declares, I shall be playing all over Europe and earning enough to make both you and me never have to think of money again.  Which will be a very blessed state to get to.

You can picture the frame of mind in which I walked down his stairs and along the Potsdamerstrasse home.  I felt I could defy everybody now.  Perhaps that remark will seem odd to you, but having given you such glorious news and told you how happy I am, I’ll not conceal from you that I’ve been feeling a little forlorn at Frau Berg’s.  Lonely.  Left out.  Darkly suspecting that they don’t like me.

You see, Kloster hadn’t been able to have me go to him till yesterday, which was Saturday, and not then till the afternoon, so that I had had all Friday and most of Saturday to be at a loose end in, except for practising, and though I had got here prepared to find everybody very charming and kind it was somehow gradually conveyed to me, though for ages I thought it must be imagination, that Frau Berg and the other boarders and the Mittagsgaste dislike me.  Well, I would have accepted it with a depressed resignation as the natural result of being unlikeable, and have tried by being pleasanter and pleasanter—­wouldn’t it have been a dreadful sight to see me screwing myself up more and more tightly to an awful pleasantness—­to induce them to like me, but the people in the streets don’t seem to like me either.  They’re not friendly.  In fact they’re rude.  And the people in the streets can’t really personally dislike me, because they don’t know me, so I can’t imagine why they’re so horrid.