It had told me, in the sweet-scented lady's words, that I was the son of a prince.

Give me half an hour to-morrow or the day after," he said, seeing a puzzled look in Frank Ayres's face, "and I'll tell you a true psychological fairy tale--the apologia pro vita mea.

I say, anyhow, that lately, until last night, I thought this little cornelian heart was a lying talisman.

Then I knew it didn't lie.

I was the son of a prince, a prince of men, although he had been in gaol and spent his days afterwards in running emotional Christianity and fried-fish shops.