counted him quite "safe." He made love to the married women, to be
sure; but he was quite certain not to run away with the marriageable
daughters.

Hence, Bertie had never felt the want of all that is bought by and
represents money, and imbibed a vague, indistinct impression that
all these things that made life pleasant came by Nature, and were
the natural inheritance and concomitants of anybody born in a decent
station, and endowed with a tolerable tact; such a matter-of-fact
difficulty as not having gold enough to pay for his own and his stud's
transit to the Shires had very rarely stared him in the face, and
when it did he trusted to chance to lift him safely over such a social
"yawner," and rarely trusted in vain.

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