"As you have just suggested, you know your own business best," he said gravely, "and I shall certainly do what I can. My uncle, the General Hulson, is giving a ball some time this winter. I and the wife aren’t going. We can’t afford it. But I daresay I could get you invitations; and once you are in the tide you will be able to swim on for yourselves. All the same"—he laid a kindly hand on Wolff’s shoulder—"I can only tell you what you yourself know, that the officer who burns his mental and financial resources at both ends is lost. _Es wäre Schade um dich, alter Junge!_" Wolff smiled. "Don’t worry," he said. "I shall take care of myself, and, at any rate—thanks for helping me." The Hussar had by now finished his trial, and Seleneck, with a general salute, hurried out of the barracks. He was a sensitive man who felt a good many things acutely which his brain did not understand, and something in his friend’s manner caused him an unexplained distress. He knew that Wolff had changed—his very actions were proof of the fact. It was not like him to part with an animal to which he was attached with the real affection of a good rider for a good horse; it was not like him to seek steps to his advancement in the patronage of his superiors. Wolff had never been a "place-hunter." Whilst always a favourite with those under whom he served, he had not sought their favour by any other means than his ready goodwill and the vigorous, unsparing fulfilment of his duty. And now he was talking of dancing attendance at every general’s levee like any common _Streber_ for whom all means are good enough so long as the end is attained. Seleneck sighed as he hurried homewards. Yes, the change in his friend was there right enough, and it had left its trace on the man’s whole bearing. He had been neither as frank nor as cheery nor as self-confident as was his wont, and there had been a grim determination in his voice and manner which warned against all interference. Above all things, no laughter and forced good spirits had concealed the fact that he was not at his ease. His whole newly born gravity had borne more the stamp of the stiff-lipped recklessness of an adventurer than the sober determination of a good soldier seeking a short cut to success; and Seleneck, who felt for Wolff an ungrudging admiration, boded no good for the future if the change continued. "I have seen a few dozen fellows go like that," he thought to himself, "and it has always ended in breakdown. Only in their case it was horses or cards, and I’ll wager that neither play any part in Wolff’s trouble. I wonder what the devil is the matter?"