According to all the canons of his Order he was never excited, never
disappointed, never exhilarated, never disturbed; and also, of course,
never by any chance embarrassed. "Votre imperturbabilite," as the Prince
de Ligne used to designate La Grande Catherine, would have been an
admirable designation for Cecil; he was imperturbable under everything;
even when an heiress, with feet as colossal as her fortune, made him a
proposal of marriage, and he had to retreat from all the offered honors
and threatened horrors, he courteously, but steadily declined them. Nor
in more interesting adventures was he less happy in his coolness.
When my Lord Regalia, who never knew when he was not wanted, came in
inopportunely in a very tender scene of the young Guardsman's (then
but a Cornet) with his handsome Countess, Cecil lifted his long lashes
lazily, turning to him a face of the most plait-il? and innocent
demureness--or consummate impudence, whichever you like. "We're playing
Solitaire. Interesting game. Queer fix, though, the ball's in that's
left all alone in the middle, don't you think?" Lord Regalia felt his
own similarity to the "ball in a fix" too keenly to appreciate the
interesting character of the amusement, or the coolness of the chief
performer in it; but "Beauty's Solitaire" became a synonym thenceforth
among the Household to typify any very tender passages "sotto quartr'
occhi."

This made his reputation on the town; the ladies called it very wicked,
but were charmed by the Richelieu-like impudence all the same, and
petted the sinner; and from then till now he had held his own with them;
dashing through life very fast, as became the first riding man in the
Brigades, but enjoying it very fully, smoothly, and softly; liking the
world and being liked by it.

To be sure, in the background there was always that ogre of money, and
the beast had a knack of growing bigger and darker every year; but
then, on the other hand, Cecil never looked at him--never thought about
him--knew, too, that he stood just as much behind the chairs of men whom
the world accredited as millionaires, and whenever the ogre gave him a
cold grip, that there was for the moment no escaping, washed away the
touch of it in a warm, fresh draft of pleasure.

CHAPTER II.

THE LOOSE BOX, AND THE TABAGIE.

"How long before the French can come up?" asked Wellington, hearing of
the pursuit that was thundering close on his rear in the most critical
ho