Where England Sets her Feet by Bernard Capes

‘Lucidus ordo! ' cried Raleigh. ‘I drink to the happy sequel! '

He was as good as his word, and in enthusiastic measure. He was come at last, and sat with his young friend in a private room of the _Cock_ tavern, as brilliant a figure as that dark wainscotting had ever been called on to enshrine. He lolled easily back, one leg crossed over the other, and lifted his cup high, gazing benevolently at the excited eager face of the boy, as it regarded him across the table. He had but just been describing his tactics, conceived and developed -- with a rather unnecessary elaboration, Brion could not help but think -- for the most romantic reception of a lover by his mistress. The lover had winced a little over the necessity of accepting any such outside means, however devoted, to the attainment of an end so sensitively personal; but he had to remember that it was he himself who, in the first instance, had volunteered the confidence; and in any case the enrapturing prospect silenced all scruples as to the methods of its evoking.