Sir Henry Commendone sat upon an oak box clamped with bands of iron and watched his son completing his morning toilette. "And how like you this life of the Court, John?" he said. The young man smoothed out the feather of his tall cone-shaped hat. "Truly, father," he answered, "in respect of itself it seems a very good life, but in respect that it is far from the fields and home it is naught. But I like it very well. And I think I am likely to rise...