jealous of such a page. He was the beau-ideal of Cherubino. He held up
his whip, with an arch sign, to the sweeper. "Follow, my man," he said,
in a tone the very command of which sounded gentle, so blithe was the
movement of the lips, and so silvery the easy accent; and without
waiting, he cantered carelessly down Pall Mall.

The sweeper cast a rueful glance at his melancholy domain. But he had
gained but little that day, and the offer was too tempting to be
rejected. He heaved a sigh, shouldered his broom, and murmuring to
himself that he would give her a last brush before he retired for the
night, he put his long limbs into that swinging, shambling trot which
characterizes the motion of those professional jackals who, having once
caught sight of a groomless rider, fairly hunt him down, and appear when
he least expects it, the instant he dismounts. The young rider lightly
swung himself from his sleek, high-bred gray at the door of one of the
clubs in St. James's Street, patted his horse's neck, chucked the rein to
the sweeper, and sauntered into the house, whistling musically,--if not
from want of thought, certainly from want of care.

As he entered the club, two or three men, young indeed, but much older,
to appearance at least, than himself, who were dining together at the
same table, nodded to him their friendly greeting.

"Ah, Perce," said one, "we have only just sat down; here is a seat for
you."

The boy blushed shyly as he accepted the proposal, and the young men made
room for him at the table, with a smiling alacrity which showed that his
shyness was no hindrance to his popularity.