preference for roses. There's always been a little jealousy there, and
they're all frightfully touchy. The artistic temperament, you know. Why, I
daren't even sleep in the same flower two nights running."

"Yes, I see," I said. "It must be very awkward."

I lapsed into silence; I had had a worrying day and was feeling tired and a
little depressed. The Queen fluttered about the room, pausing a moment on
the mantel-shelf for a word or two with her old friend the Dresden china
shepherdess. Then she came back to the desk and performed a brief _pas
seul_ on the shining smooth cover of my pass-book. My mind flew instantly
to my slender bank-balance and certain recent foolishnesses.

"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