Tall, good looking, rawboned, cheerful, gallant, he was the true comrade of those merry, reckless volunteers from all lands who find commissions in Fortune's army and serve her faithfully.

He had shared pot luck in odd parts of the world with English lords, German barons and French counts--all serving under the common flag.

His heart had withstood the importunate batterings of many a love siege; the wounds had been pleasant ones and the recovery quick.

He left no dead behind him.
He was nearly thirty when the diplomatic service began to appeal to him as a pleasing variation from the rigorous occupations he had followed heretofore.

A British lordling put it into his head, away out in Delhi.
It took root, and he hurried home to attend to its growth.