“There is no fear of that, dear Victor; London has been going through mental gymnastics for a few weeks, and you could not find one creature that did not harbour the purest intentions. Even that uninteresting couple, the Mowbrays, have not in their whole composition a grain of malice, although they started late in their career of reform.” * * * * * The Palace of Happiness opened next day, on what Londoners were formerly wont to call Goodwood Day. Thousands and thousands marching in perfect order entered the hall, and seated themselves on the benches which had been erected one above the other and reached right up to the gallery. At one end of the hall, on a marble platform raised three feet from the ground, Lionel and Gwen, Sinclair and Eva, with many others who formed part of the committee, were reclining on couches. Victor de Laumel sat discreetly behind the Somervilles, for they had hinted to their Parisian friend that his presence might attract the attention of the public and put it out of humour against the whole performance. Lionel kept saying that until this ceremony was over they were not out of the wood, and could not say positively that John Bull had been won over. Notwithstanding the size and height of the hall, the scent of flowers was intoxicating, as masses of cut roses, jasmine and carnations were strewed over the platform and the seats, whilst huge garlands of tropical flowers hung in festoons along the upper gallery.