Oh, yes, Paris was certainly the best.
"But I didn't come here to discuss clothes," said my visitor. She made a
quick movement and leaned suddenly forward on the cushion, her delicate
golden head supported on her slender hand. "Do you know the Editor of
_Punch_?" she asked abruptly.
I hesitated. "I can't exactly say that I _know_ him," I said.
The Fairy Queen looked very disappointed.
"Oh, dear, then I'm afraid it's no good. I thought you'd be sure to know
him."
"But although I don't know him personally I am in communication with
him," I said. "Perhaps--"
She brightened up a little.
"I suppose you _could_ write," she said; "though of course it would be
far better to see him."
"It's about that cover," she went on. I looked at her blankly.
"The cover of _Punch_, you know."
Vague pictures of Mr. Punch surrounded by little dancing figures, an
easel, Toby, a lion--surely there was a lion somewhere--flitted across
my mind. What on earth had the cover of _Punch_ got to do with the Fairy
Queen?
I went over to the little table where lay the latest copy, and came back
with it in my hand and knelt down on the floor near the cushion.
The Fairy Queen came close to me and peered over the edge of the paper.
"Look at the fairies," she said, pointing with a tiny indignant finger.
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