“I’m sorry dear,” his wife said as Lord Horace guided her gently by the elbow to one of the blue velvet sofas.  Not for the first time, he regretted his marriage to the younger woman.  The girl was certainly a beauty, but she was flighty, and two years into their relationship still hadn’t produced him an heir.  His third marriage was shaping up to be as fruitless as the others.  With a sigh, he reached into his pocket for a cigar.  The servant put a gentle hand on his arm.  “I’m afraid there is no smoking in the lounge, sir”