November 9th. I'm so upset; _she_ didn't come to skate. I'm afraid she
may be ill.

November 10th. She didn't come to-day either. I waited two hours, but it
was no good.

November 11th. She came to-day, at last! Oh how pretty she is.

November 12th. She has spoken to me. I was standing near the entrance
gate and suddenly I heard some one laughing behind me and I knew
directly: That is _she!_ So it was. She came up and said: Shall we skate
together? Please, if I may, said I, and we went off together crossing
arms. My heart was beating furiously, and I wanted to say something,
but couldn't think of anything sensible to say. When we came back to the
entrance a gentleman stood there and took off his hat and she bowed, and
she said to me: Till next time. I said quickly: When? Tomorrow?
Perhaps, she called back. . . . Only perhaps, perhaps, oh I wish it were
to-morrow already.

November 13th. Inspee declares that her name is Anastasia Klastoschek.
I'm sure it can't be true that she has such a name, she might be called
Eugenie or Seraphine or Laura, but Anastasia, impossible. Why are there
such horrid names? Fancy if she is really called that. Klastoschek,
too, a Czech name, and she is supposed to come from Moravia and to be 26
already; 26, absurd, she's 18 at most. I'm sure she's not so much as
18. Dora says she lives in Phorusgasse, and that she doesn't think her
particularly pretty. Of course that's rank jealousy; Dora thinks no one
pretty except herself.