thing, and he's got one in Pas de Charge."

"I'm not much afraid of Monti, he makes too wild a burst first; he never
saves on atom," yawned Cecil, with the coils of his hookah bubbling
among the rose-water; "the man I'm afraid of is that fellow from the
Tenth; he's as light as a feather and as hard as steel. I watched him
yesterday going over the water, and the horse he'll ride for Trelawney
is good enough to beat even the King if he's properly piloted."

"You haven't kept yourself in condition, Beauty," growled "Tom," with
the chibouque in his mouth, "else nothing could give you the go-by. It's
tempting Providence to go in for the Gilt Vase after such a December and
January as you spent in Paris. Even the week you've been in the Shires
you haven't trained a bit; you've been waltzing or playing baccarat till
five in the morning, and taking no end of sodas after to bring you right
for the meet at nine. If a man will drink champagnes and burgundies as
you do, and spend his time after women, I should like to know how he's
to be in hard riding condition, unless he expects a miracle."

With which Chesterfield, who weighed fourteen stone himself, and was,
therefore, out of all but welter-races, and wanted a weight-carrier
of tremendous power even for them, subsided under a heap of velvet and
cashmere, and Cecil laughed; lying on a divan just under one of the gas
branches, the light fell full on his handsome face, with its fair hue
and its gentle languor on which there was not a single trace of the
outrecuidance attributed to him. Both he and the Seraph could lead the
wildest life of any men in Europe without looking one shadow more worn
than the brightest beauty of the season, and could hold wassail in
riotous rivalry till the sun rose, and then throw themselves into saddle
as fresh as if they had been sound asleep all night; to keep up with the