above the gold locks of the Titanic Seraph, steeping Chesterfield's
velvets in strong odors of Cavendish, and drifting a light rose-scented
mist over Bertie's long, lithe limbs, light enough and skilled enough to
disdain all "training for the weights."

"That's not the way to be in condition," growled "Tom," getting up with
a great shake as the clock clanged the strokes of five; they had only
returned from a ball three miles off, when Cecil had paid his visit
to the loose box. Bertie laughed; his laugh was like himself--rather
languid, but very light-hearted, very silvery, very engaging.

"Sit and smoke till breakfast time if you like, Tom; it won't make any
difference to me."

But the Smoke Parliament wouldn't hear of the champion of the Household
over the ridge and furrow risking the steadiness of his wrist and the
keenness of his eye by any such additional tempting of Providence, and
went off itself in various directions, with good-night iced drinks,
yawning considerably like most other parliaments after a sitting.

It was the old family place of the Royallieu House in which he had
congregated half the Guardsmen in the Service for the great event, and
consequently the bachelor chambers in it were of the utmost comfort and
spaciousness, and when Cecil sauntered into his old quarters, familiar
from boyhood, he could not have been better off in his own luxurious
haunts in Piccadilly. Moreover, the first thing that caught his eye was
a dainty scarlet silk riding jacket broidered in gold and silver, with
the motto of his house, "Coeur Vaillant se fait Royaume," all circled
with oak and laurel leaves on the collar.