“I am astonished that you should make such a remark, Lord Somerville; you are too much up-to-date to bring that exploded accusation against our race. If our lower orders take Sunday rambles in our City graveyards, it is not for the dead that they go there, but partly for the flowers and the trees; mostly, however, in search of excitement. They spell the In Memoriams on tombstones as they would devour penny novelettes. It gives them a glamour of romance and tragedy, as a jeweller’s shop window opens a glittering vista of luxury to the hungry stare of a beggar. It is always what lies behind the scenes that will for ever enthral the minds of human beings. You, of the Upper Ten, have excitements of all sorts, subtle and coarse; amusements of every descriptions, frivolous or cruel; passions of all kinds, high and low; but the wearied toilers have only the routine of an eventless existence; no wonder shop windows and graveyards are their arena, but it does not follow that they take their pleasures sadly. A child will play with a dead man’s skull if he has no painted doll.” They had reached Hyde Park Corner. “I have passed a very pleasant hour with you, Danford; perhaps one of the pleasantest for many years. Shall we say 6.30 at the foot of Achilles’s statue?” “Yes, my lord, and the place you name is most appropriate.” With a wave of the hand Danford walked away in the direction of Sloane Street, and Lord Somerville slowly went up Piccadilly. He felt what he had not experienced since his Eton days—an interest in life; and he was determined to see this farce through. CHAPTER IV