ouldn't, like
Dick, must know something about the formation of such things; but anyone
may be interested--except a Mrs. Norton.

You and I had no motoring when we were travellers, so we didn't see
Europe as I am seeing England; still, I don't believe any other country
has this individuality of vast, billowing downs. As you bowl smoothly
from one to another, over perfect roads, you have a series of surprises,
new beauties opening suddenly to your eyes. It is exciting, yet
soothing; and that mingling of emotions is part of the joy of the car.
For motorists, the downs of Hampshire and Wiltshire are like a goddess's
beautiful breasts; and Nature is a goddess, isn't she?--the greatest of
all, combining all their best qualities.

This White Hart is a nice hotel, but I rather resent the foreign
waiters, as out of the picture, in such an essentially old-fashioned,
English place. I like the animal names of the hotels in England. Already
we have seen a lot; and they form into a quaint, colourful, Noah's Ark
and heraldic procession across the country. The Black Bull; The Golden
Unicorn; The Blue Boar; The Red Lion; The Piebald Horse; The Green
Dragon; The White Hart. I am still longing for a Purple Bear.

The first thing we did after getting settled (which I always like, as I
haven't enough luggage to make much bother) was to walk out and see the
town. I kept Dick with me, not because I wanted him, you may be sure,
but because I can see he is a blot on the 'scutcheon for Sir Lionel, and
I feel so guilty, having forced him into the party, that I try to
attract the Blot to myself. If I mention the Blot in future, you'll know
what it is. When I'm very desperate, I may just fling a drop of ink on
the paper to relieve my feelings, and that will mean the same thing. The
Blot puts on an air of the most exaggerated respect for Sir Lionel.
You'd fancy he was talking to a centenarian. Horrid, pert little pig! (I
think pigs run in their family.) I know he does it on purpose to be
nasty, and make Sir Lionel feel an old stager. Do you remember the
pig-baby in "Alice's Adventures"?

He only does it to annoy,
Because he knows it teases.

Not that it need, for Sir Lionel looks about thirty-four. Nobody would
give him forty unless they saw it in books; and he is like a knight of
romance. There! Now you have the opinion I have come to hold of
Ellaline's dragon. For me, the Dragon has turned into a Knight. But, of
course, I may be mist