CHAPTER VI.


"Thou art not steeped in golden languors;
No tranced summer calm is thine,
Ever-varying Madeline."



It was a woodland meet, a long way off, the morning after we arrived, so
we staid at home; and, after breakfast, Guy having to give audience to
keepers and other retainers, I strolled out with Forrester to smoke in
the stables. I have seldom seen a lot which united so perfectly bone and
blood. Livingstone gave any price for his horses; the only thing he was
not particular about was their temper; more than one looked eminently
unsuited to a nervous rider, and a swinging bar behind them warned the
stranger against incautious approach.

After duly discussing and admiring the stud, we established ourselves on
the sunniest stone bench in the garden, and I asked my companion to tell
me something of what Guy had been doing during my absence.

"Well, it's rather hard to say," answered Charley. "He never takes the
trouble to conceal any thing; but then, you see, he never tells one any
thing either; so it's only guess work, after all. He lives very much
like other men in the Household Brigade; plays heavily, though not
regularly; but he always has two _affaires de coeur_, at least, on