There is nothing I hate more than the sickening smell of spilt ink, or rather, the soapy rags they chose to rub it up with, so I went up to my room quietly intending to get my hat and go out till it had blown over, or rather soaked in. Sarah was there, tidying or something, and she said immediately, "Now whatever have you been up to?" I told her that the word "ever" was quite surplus in that sentence, and that George objected to it strongly. Thus I got away from her, wishing I had a less expressive face. I found myself in the street without an object. I have got beyond the age of runaway rings, thank goodness, but they did use to amuse me, till one day an old gentleman got hold of me and went on about the length of kitchen stairs generally, and the shortness of cooks' legs, and the cruel risk of things boiling over. He changed my heart. So this day I just walked along to a motor-car, that I saw at the end of the next street but one, standing in front of the "Milliner's Arms," with nobody in it. I expected the man was having a drink, for it was piping hot. I got into the car and sat down, and just put my hand on the twirly-twirly thing in front, considering if I should set the car going. It was the very first time I had ever been in a motor in my life, and I simply hadn't the heart to miss the chance. A lady came out of the Public. I never saw anything so pretty, and her dress was all billowy, like the little fluffy clouds we call Peter's sheep in a blue sky, and the hem of it was covered with sawdust off the public-house floor. Yet I can't say she looked at all tipsy. "I wanted a pick-me-up so badly, I just had to go in and get it." She said this in an apologizing sort of way, while I was just wondering how I should explain my presence in her car. She settled that for me, by saying with a little sweet smile, "Well, you pretty child, how do you like my motor-car?" "It is the first time I----" "Oh, of course! Would you like to be in one while it is on the move?" I confessed I should, and she jumped in beside me, saying, "Sit still, then, child!" and moved the crissy-cross starfish thing in front, and we were off. Mercy, what a rate! Policemen seemed to hold up their hands in amazement at us, and she looked pleased and flattered. We drove on and on, past the Hounslow turning, through miles of nursery gardens and then miles of slums, till at last the houses got smarter and bigger, and I guessed this was the part of London where George lives, only I did not ask questions. I hardly ever do. I did see a clock once, and I saw it was nearly our lunch time. I realized that I had missed rice-pudding for once, and was glad. She talked all the way along, and I listened. I find that is what people like, for she kept telling me that I was a nice child, and that she thought she should run away with me. "You _are_ running away with me," I said.