said?--"My Fraulein, when you came in I thought, 'Behold yet one more
well-washed, nice-looking, foolish, rich, nothing-at-all English Mees,
who is going to waste my time and her money with lessons.' I now
perceive that I have to do with an artist. My Fraulein _ich
gratuliere_." And he made me the funniest little solemn bow. I
thought I'd die of pride.

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