Now at the Castle one night he just happened to come down a corridor as Beauty was smoking.

Beauty made believe to take him for a servant, took out a sovereign, and tossed it to him.

'Here, keep a still tongue about my cigar, my good fellow!' Pulteney turned hot and cold, and stammered out God knows what, about his mighty dignity being mistaken for a valet.

Bertie just laughed a little, ever so softly, 'Beg your pardon--thought you were one of the people; wouldn't have done it for worlds; I know you're never at ease with a sovereign!' Now Pulteney wasn't likely to forget that.

If he wanted the King, I'll lay any money it was to give him to some wretched mount who'd break his back over a fence in a selling race." "Well, he won't have him; Seraph don't intend to have the horse ever ridden or hunted at all." "Nonsense!" "By Jove, he means it! nobody's to cross the King's back; he wants weight-carriers himself, you know, and precious strong ones too.