preserved. And each of those twenty years had been as stereotyped as his ideas. The notions on which he had patterned himself were part regimental and part sporting. As a military man he was saturated with the Balaclava spirit, and one could also imagine him saying, "Women and children first" on a foundering troopship (was it the Warren Hastings which went down in the early 'nineties?). But the Boer War had arrived seven years too late for him, and the gist of the matter was that he'd never seen any active service. And somehow, when one came to know him well, one couldn't quite imagine him in the Charge of the Light Brigade: but this may have been because, in spite of the dashing light-cavalry tone of his talk, he had served in a line regiment, and not at all a smart one either. (His affluence dated from the day when he had married where money was.) As a sportsman he had modelled himself on what I may call the Whyte-Melville standard. His conver- sational behaviour echoed the sentiments and sky- larking .vivacities of mid-Victorian sporting novels and the coloured prints of a slightly earlier period. And yet one could no more imagine him participating in a moonlight steeplechase than one could visualize him being shot through the Bible in his breast pocket in a death or glory attack. Like many chivalrous spirits, he could never quite live up to the ideal he aimed at. He was always talking about "Brooksby", a hard-riding journalist who, in the Colonel's heyday, had written regularly for The Field. He had several volumes of these lively scribblings and he had read and re-read them in his solitary evenings until he knew the name of every gorse-covert and woodland in the Shires.