igade as "Beauty," and the
appellative, gained at Eton, was in no way undeserved. His face, with as
much delicacy and brilliancy as a woman's, was at once handsome,
thoroughbred, languid, nonchalant with a certain latent recklessness,
under the impassive calm of habit.

Life petted him and pampered him; lodged him like a prince, dined him
like a king, and had never let him feel the want of all that is bought
by money. How could he understand that he was not as rich a man as his
oldest and closest comrade, Lord Rockingham, a Colossus, known as "the
Seraph," the eldest son of the Duke of Lyonesse?

A quarrel with his father (whom he always alluded to as "Royal")
reminded him that he was ruined; that he would get no help from the old
lord, or from his elder brother, the heir. He was hopelessly in debt;
nothing but the will of his creditors stood between him and the fatal
hour when he must "send in his papers to sell," and be "nowhere" in the
great race of life.

An appeal for money from his young brother, Berkeley, whom he really
loved, forced Cecil to look, for the first time, blankly in the face of
ruin that awaited him.

Berkeley, a boy of twenty, had been gambling, and came to Cecil, as he
had come often enough before, with his tale of needs. It was L300
Berkeley wanted, and he had already borrowed L100 from a friend--a
shameless piece of degradation in Cecil's code.

"It is no use to give you false hopes, young one," said Cecil gently. "I
can do nothing. If the money were mine it should be yours at a word. But
I am all downhill, and my bills may be called in at any moment."

"You are such chums with Rockingham, and he's as rich as all the Jews
put together. What harm could there be if you asked him to lend you some
money for me?"

Cecil's face darkened.

"You will bring some disgrace on us before you die, Berkeley," he said.
"Have you no common knowledge of honour? If I did such a thing I should
deserve to be hounded out of the Guards to-morrow. The only thing for
you to do is to go down and tell Royal, he will sell every stick and
stone for your sake."

"I would rather cut my throat," said the boy. "I have had so much from
him lately."

But in the end he promised to go.

It was hard for Bertie to get it into his brain that he really was at
the end of his resources. There still seemed one chance open to him. He
was a fearless rider, and his horse, Forest King, was famous for its
powers. He entered him f