“Talking of favourites,” I said—­“talking of favourites, do you take any interest in racing?”

Instantly the Queen subsided on to my rubber stamp damper, which was fortunately dry.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, “I take a great interest in racing.  I love it.  I can give you all sorts of hints.”

I thought it was a pity she hadn’t called a week or two earlier.  I might have been a richer woman by a good many pounds.

“And there are so many kinds,” continued the Queen earnestly.  “Now in a butterfly race it’s always best just to hold on and let them do as they like.  It’s not a bit of use trying to make them go straight.  Rabbits are better in that way, but even rabbits are a little uncertain at times.  Full of nerves.  But have you ever tried swallow-racing?” she went on enthusiastically.  “It’s simply splendid.  You give them their heads and you never know where you may get to.  But, anyway, it doesn’t really matter in the least afterwards who wins; it’s only while it’s happening that you feel so thrilled, isn’t it?”

I didn’t acquiesce very whole-heartedly.  I’m afraid my thoughts were with my lost guineas.  It had rather mattered afterwards.  I really had been very foolish.

“You look depressed,” said the Fairy Queen.  “Can I help you?  I’m really extremely practical.  You know, don’t you,” she leaned forward and looked at me earnestly, “that I should be delighted if I could assist you with any advice?”

I hesitated.  Just before she came I had been anxiously considering as to how I was going to make one hundred pounds do the work of two during the next few weeks; but somehow I didn’t quite like to mention such material matters to the Queen; it didn’t seem suitable.

I looked up and met her kind eyes fixed on mine with an expression of the gentlest interest and solicitude.

“I wonder,” I said, still hesitating, “whether you know anything about stocks and shares?”

“Stocks and shares,” she repeated slowly, looking just a little vague and puzzled.  And then—­“Oh, yes, of course I do, if that’s all you want to know.”

I felt quite pleased now that I had really got it out.

“If you could just give me a useful hint or two I should be tremendously grateful,” I said.  Already thousands loomed entrancingly before me.  Already I saw myself settled in that darling cottage on the windy hill above Daccombe Wood.  Already—­

“I think I had better get a pencil and paper,” I said.  “My memory’s dreadful.”

But the Fairy Queen shook her head.

“I’ll write it down for you,” she said, “and you can read it when I’m gone.  That’s so much more fun.  But I don’t need paper.”

She drew a tiny shining implement from her pocket and, picking up a couple of rose-petals which had fallen upon the table, she busied herself with them for a moment at my desk, her mouth pursed up, her brows contracted in an expression of intense seriousness.