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.

"There," she said, "that's that. And now show me _all_ your new clothes."

We spent quite a pleasant evening over one thing and another, and I forgot
all about the rose-leaves until after she had gone; but when I came back to
my empty sitting-room they shone in the dusk with a soft radiance which
came, I discovered, from the writing on them. It glowed like those luminous
figures on watches which were so entrancing when they first appeared. I had
never realised before that they were fairy figures.

I spread the petals out on my palm, feeling quite excited at the prospect
of making my fortune by such means, though I was a little anxious as to how
I was going to make use of the information I was about to acquire.

"I will ask Cousin Fred," I decided (Cousin Fred being a stockbroker), and
I smiled a little to myself as I thought how amazed and possibly amused my
dapper cousin would be when he learnt the source of my knowledge. He might
even refuse to believe in it--and then where should I be?

I needn't have troubled. When I unfolded my rose-petals this is what I
read:--

"_Stocks._--The white ones are much the best and have by far the sweetest
scent.

_Shares._--_Always_ go shares."

R.F.

* * * * *

HEART OF MINE.

(_Being a rather hysterical contribution from our Analytical Novelist._)

_Friday._--I suppose one never realises till one is actually dead how
nearly dead one can be without actually being it. You see what I mean? No.
Well, how blithely, how recklessly one rollicks through life, fondly
believing that one is in the best of health, in the prime of condition, and
all the time one is the unconscious victim of some fatal infirmity or
disease. I mean, take my own case. I went to see my doctor in order to be
cured of hay fever. He examined my heart. He made me take off my shirt. He
hammered my chest; he rapped my ribs with his knuckles to see if they
sounded hollow. I don't know why he did this, but I think he was at one
time attached to a detective and has got into the habit of looking for
secret passages and false panels and so on.

Anyhow, he suspected my chest, and he listened at it for so long that any
miscreant who had been concealed in it would have had to give himself away