The Earl of Somerville was coming out of the Agricultural Hall and just stepping into his brougham, when a few drops of rain began to fall and a distant clap of thunder was heard. But it would no doubt be over in a few minutes; only a passing shower which would dispel the clouds, clear the leaden atmosphere, and in no way interfere with the midnight picnic to which Lord Somerville was going. The day had been oppressively hot, and although it was only the second of May, one might have easily beli

Lionel Somerville woke at 8 a.m. in the freshest of spirits. All the frenzy of the night before had vanished, and as he lay on his bed, smiling, he tried to think over what had happened. “Did I not kill myself last night? Anyway, I did not succeed, or perhaps it was all a delusion! I must have been in a bad way. It is that infernal wound that troubles me; I have never been quite myself since I came home.—Well! what is the matter with this place?—Where are the curtains, the carpet?” Sitting up in

When the men and women of this powerful race make up their minds to anything, whether right or wrong, they neither hesitate nor do they allow any time to elapse between decision and consummation. So it was that on the morning of the twelfth day Lord Somerville sprang off his couch, took his tub and brushed his hair with unusual alacrity. He did not give a passing glance at his mirror, strange to say; perhaps, had he done so, his resolution would have slackened; but Lord Somerville was wise, and,

Dick Danford was as good as his word. After an hour’s stroll through London, Lord Somerville came to the conclusion that, for the present, his eyes were no more to him than a tail would have been. The old world of before the storm seemed to have vanished in a bottomless pit, and what he viewed instead was as prodigious as what he had hoped to see on his travels across Acheron. He noticed that tricks and mannerisms were as yet clinging to both sexes: women still grasped their invisible dresses as

After looking at the prologue of the show, Lionel and Danford entered the house and ascended the steps of the once richly-carpeted staircase. At the top stood, or at least wabbled, a little woman, leaning heavily on a stick; at her side was Sam Yorick, the social guide, who had no rival as a mimic of Parliamentary members, but who could not hold a candle to Dick Danford. Mrs Webster had applied too late, and had to take Yorick and consider herself lucky to get him, for he was the last male guide

“You have taken the first step towards the plastic reform of London, my lord.” “Then you think the party was a success?” “A tremendous one! They have now grasped the idea that they have only their skin to cover them, and must therefore improve their appearance, as their artificial tournure has vanished.” “What do you think of my excluding the old dowagers of Society?” Lionel was enjoying this freak of his more than anything he had yet done. “Capital, my lord! Very brave of you. As long as you al

Lionel was not listening to his companion any longer; his mind had wandered from the East-End to the present scene, and gradually losing sight of his surroundings, his eyes lingered rapturously on a feminine form of unsurpassed beauty. Her elbow resting on an Etruscan vase, she leaned her soft cheek on the palm of her hand and looked up inquiringly at a portrait by Lely, representing the ancestress of one of our fashionable women. Lionel had never seen such grace, such simplicity—the word innoce

A few days after, Dick Danford was at his master’s house; he walked nimbly through the hall and reached the Roman bath Lionel had now constructed for his use. He had started the fashion of receiving his friends at the late hour of the afternoon, five o’clock, in what the Romans called the Frigidarium. Those who wished to bathe could do so in the marble swimming-bath cut out in the centre of the hall, others who only came to converse sat in the recess carved into the surrounding wall, or stood ag

Nettie Collins, Gwendolen’s social guide, declared she had nothing more to teach her pupil now she had made such progress in the art of observation, recognised her lover, and just lately known her father again. This last event had been curious. One day, Gwen was walking through the rooms of the National Gallery, enjoying the beauty of art that had been hidden from her for so many years; as she stood in front of Pinturicchio’s “Story of Griselda,” wondering at the past generations who not only al

“We were talking about the new study of dramatic art, Danford. I hear your Society is making great progress.” “Progress, my lord! It has already reached a very high standard of efficiency. We shall, in a few days, give a representation of King John, which, I believe, will interest you. The Regalia of Sovereignty will of course be absent; but how much more significant of true majesty will the personage be, when, by his gestures and facial expression, he will embody that ephemeral power—divine rig

Lionel often sat in his library pondering over all kinds of abstruse questions. He did not know his old London again, and smiled at the revolution in social life. Nowadays, one house was as good as another. Mrs So-and-So’s luncheon parties, Lady X.’s dinners and bridge réunions were no longer sought for, since frocks and frills had vanished and packs of cards crumbled to dust. Dancing also was impossible under the present régime , for the laisser-aller of a ball-room seemed intolerable in the ne

“I am very thirsty, Eva.” Lady Carey had just come in from her drive, after having much enjoyed, as well as admired, the new system of be-your-own-policeman. She was not lacking in the power of observation, and could very well appreciate the rational side of London’s new mode of life; although she would sooner have perished than owned to anyone her thoughts on the subject. “Let me pour you a cup of tea, mother,” replied Eva, as she went to the tea table. “I forgot to tell you that Gwen had retur

A few days after this animated discussion at Lady Carey’s, there were to be seen dashing along Pall Mall numerous chariots which halted at the ex-Walton Club, where also fair ladies were alighting from their wheeled couches (these had been designed by Sinclair at Lionel’s suggestion). There were also public conveyances of a practical and artistic shape, made to accommodate several passengers in a comfortable posture. The fastidious designer could not conceal his satisfaction at the disappearance

“I shall do your hair for you, mother dear,” said Eva one morning. They were both in Lady Carey’s dressing-room, as it was the time when the maid was rung for to attend to her mistress’s coiffure. “A very good idea, Eva. I must say I never feel quite at my ease with Elise, and I ring for her as seldom as I can now. It does seem so funny to give orders to a person who stands just as naked as you are.” “Oh! I am so glad! I have been longing to arrange your lovely hair in my own way,” and Eva clapp

“Well, my dear Gwen!”—Mrs Archibald entered the library at Selby House, followed by the Earl of Somerville—“I never thought I should live to see your husband act as his own footman!” “Dear Alicia”—Lady Somerville kissed the newcomer and led her to a marble lounge—“why not be one’s own footman? We are our own policemen, and I do not believe the streets’ safety has in any way suffered from it.” “That’s quite different, dear Gwen. Ah! how do, Mrs Sinclair? I had not seen you. How shaded you keep yo

“I say, Danford, it is far more dignified to go about as we do; there is no shamming any more,” said Sinclair, as he linked his arm in that of Lionel. The three men were coming down Bond Street. “No one stops me to make irrelevant remarks on my matrimonial affairs.” His spirits were buoyant, he felt himself master of the world, not merely the master over men; neither did he enjoy that spurious sense of independence which made him formerly, as a man of fashion, order his pleasures at such an hour

The day came at last when the Bishop of Sunbury was to deliver his address on the future of religion. St Paul’s had been considered too small to contain the large assemblage of worshippers who were anxious to hear the prelate, and it had therefore been arranged for him to speak to the crowd from the steps of the Cathedral. Churchmen were not the only ones interested in the long-promised message, but the world at large was eager to learn what the ex-dignitary would tell them concerning the great

“How isolated we are in this wide, wide world,” said Mrs Archibald to Lord Mowbray, a few days after the meeting in St Paul’s. They had rambled beyond Putney Bridge on a warm afternoon, and having reached Barnes Commons had seated themselves upon the soft grass. These two recalcitrants mourned pitifully over their present state and uncongenial surroundings, and, as they sat, related to each other in short, spasmodic sentences their grievous historiette of woe. Anecdote after anecdote escaped the

“Are you there?” inquired Victor de Laumel of Lionel through the telephone, a few days before the opening of the palace. “Is that you, Victor?” “Yes; we are all very much amused over here, and wonder if you are really in earnest about your Palace of Happiness?” “Nothing more serious, my dear boy. It will be the crowning of all our social reforms.” “Bah, mon cher ! you have lost all your sense of humour! When I think of our diners fins , and our pleasant chats together, I cannot understand your m

“What’s been the matter with me?” “Nothing very serious, Lord Somerville,” cheerily replied Sir Edward Bartley. “You are all right now; but you must not excite yourself. Now, now, don’t look round in that way.” And the eminent surgeon laid his soft hand on his patient’s wrist. “This is strange, Sir Edward. Have the carpets and curtains come back?” and two tears trickled down Lionel’s emaciated cheeks. “Sh, sh! that’s all right.” Sir Edward turned to the valet, who stood close by. “Temple, you mu