"I'd go sailing," she said decidedly: "and I'd steer. No,
YOU'D have to steer, and I'd sit about on the deck. No, I
wouldn't though; I'd row--at least I'd make you row, and I'd
steer. And then we'd--Oh, no! I'll tell you what we'd do! We'd
just sit in a punt and dabble!"

"Of course we'll do just what you like," I said hospitably; but
already I was beginning to feel my liberty of action somewhat
curtailed by this exigent visitor I had so rashly admitted into
my sanctum.

"I don't think we'd boat at all," she finally decided. "It's
always so WOBBLY. Where do you come to next?"

"You go up the steps," I continued, "and in at the door, and the
very first place you come to is the Chocolate-room!"

She brightened up at this, and I heard her murmur with gusto,
"Chocolate-room!"

"It's got every sort of chocolate you can think of," I went on:
"soft chocolate, with sticky stuff inside, white and pink, what
girls like; and hard shiny chocolate, that cracks when you bite
it, and takes such a nice long time to suck!"

"I like the soft stuff best," she said: "'cos you can eat such a
lot more of it!"

This was to me a new aspect of the chocolate question, and I