"Yes, indeed, something homelike"--the Frau Oberregierungsrat patted my
hand--"and of no possible significance to you."

I felt a little crushed. Not at the prospect of losing that vision of
diamonds and blue velvet bust, but at the tone--placing me outside the
pale--branding me as a foreigner.

We dissipated the day in valid speculations. Decided it was too warm to
walk in the afternoon, so lay down on our beds, mustering in great force
for afternoon coffee. And a carriage drew up at the door. A tall young
girl got out, leading a child by the hand. They entered the hall, were
greeted and shown to their room. Ten minutes later she came down with the
child to sign the visitors' book. She wore a black, closely fitting dress,
touched at throat and wrists with white frilling. Her brown hair, braided,
was tied with a black bow--unusually pale, with a small mole on her left
cheek.

"I am the Baroness von Gall's sister," she said, trying the pen on a piece
of blotting-paper, and smiling at us deprecatingly. Even for the most
jaded of us life holds its thrilling moments. Two Baronesses in two
months! The manager immediately left the room to find a new nib.

To my plebeian eyes that afflicted child was singularly unattractive. She
had the air of having been perpetually washed with a blue bag, and hair
like grey wool--dressed, too, in a pinafore so stiffly starched that she
could only peer at us over the frill of it--a social barrier of a
pinafore--and perhaps it was too much to expect a noble aunt to attend to
the menial consideration of her niece's ears. But a dumb niece with
unwashed ears struck me as a most depressing object.