"We're all savages," said Sydney, "all savages, we English, under our skins. Ever seen any fighting, Mr. Browne?"
The boy's eyes glistened.
"How I wish——" he sighed, "but there's been no big war for thirty years."
"When you live on a volcano which hasn't been in eruption for thirty years—look out."
"But do you think——"
"Do you think," said Sydney, "that we wear this confounded livery for fun? Do you think we've given up smoking, drinking, late hours—and all the rest—from piety? Do you think we drill hours a day for want of other exercise? Wait until you've been a few days in town, and then you'll know."
The lad was thinking things which had no words; and when that evening he sat at dinner in the banqueting hall of white marble, surrounded by all the circumstance of Margaret's incomparable court, he could not trust himself to speak. He rose with the rest when the trumpets sounded, he put his lips to his glass when the vice-president cried—"Gentlemen—the Queen!"—but a little tear ran out of his left eye. He saw as through a mist the glittering splendour of the scene, and wanted to shout when the band played the National Anthem.
The Captain, Prince Rupert of Gloucester, had come forward to the front of the dais, with the other officers grouped about him. Then one of the trumpeters called a summons.
"Attend, Trooper Sydney."
"Come on," said Sydney roughly to the lad, and all eyes were upon them as they marched up the hall to the dais.