Then he thought of his friend, Victor de Laumel, of the Jockey Club in Paris. He felt convinced Victor would tell him, “I say, my good fellow, why do you mind? Go out and give the example of simplicity and good-humour.”
After all, it was not that he minded much, and if the Upper Ten appointed between themselves a day and hour in which they would all go out together, it would not be so bad; but it was the idea of appearing before and mixing with an indiscriminate crowd. It would be really annoying to have your butler look you up and down, and to stand the flitting sneer on the lips of your groom. Of course there was nothing in the abstract against an Edenic garment; but one must not forget that Adam and Eve were alone in Paradise, and had no crowd to pass unpleasant remarks over their personal appearance. It was only when that interfering Tertium quid had sneaked round the corner that they had lost all the fun in life. Well, if one reptile had the power to make them feel ashamed of themselves, what would it be now that thousands of little twinkling eyes were glaring, and that myriads of sharp tongues hissed and stung? It was quite evident that clothes kept the world within bounds of decency, besides restraining the overbearance of the lower classes and enforcing their respect for their superiors. What could our civilisation be without the cap-and-apron ethics? It is difficult enough to keep up a certain standard in the world with the help of smart surroundings; but how could one command deference from, and give orders to one’s domesticity in this attire?
On the eleventh day of this prison life, Lord Somerville woke with a sharp pain in his side, and as he sat up on his pallet he was seized with giddiness. This was a premonition which filled him with awe. His liver was hopelessly out of order, and no doubt many of his friends’ livers were in the same condition owing to this sedentary life. Hard thinking and solitary confinement would be sure to have a fatal effect on a race accustomed to exercise and deep drinking. The area gossip was ominous, and what Temple recorded to his master boded no good to the Upper Ten, who were suffering from a general attack of dyspepsia. It was a very serious question, a race doomed to sequestration; and there was a fear that eventually London, the well-drained, well-watered, well-lighted and altogether well-County-Councilled, would be turned into a vast lunatic asylum. When ethics meant apoplexy, it was time to halt and loosen the strings of propriety; and it was the duty of the sporting duke, the rubicund brewer, and of all the fastidious do-nothings, to weave for themselves in the seclusion of their chambers a new tissue of principles to suit their abnormal condition. Lionel inquired whether the Bishop had come to any conclusion about his text. Temple did not know about that, but he knew that the prelate had complained of insomnia and sickness, and asked for sal volatile. Lady Pendelton had been heard by her maid to fall on the floor. Was her ladyship better now? had asked Lionel. Yes, but her maid could hear her tottering in her room and moaning piteously.
“It is very bad this, Temple. I think something ought to be done for the good of the public; but what?”
“I believe that if your lordship would only show yourself—I beg your pardon, my lord—but an example would be beneficial, and your lordship is so popular, I am sure you would carry the day.”
“Do you really believe that my showing myself would be a general signal? You see, Temple, I do not want to find myself all alone in the streets of London, with all the dowagers grinning at their windows. That would never do.”
“Oh! your lordship need not fear. There is a great feeling of discontent among the higher classes; and before you could say Jack Robinson they would all follow your example.”
“That is certainly very encouraging. Bring me some boiling water to drink. No breakfast, thanks.”
The wave of revolt was rising furiously and threatening to drown all principles of decency. Utter disgust filled the hearts of Londoners when they retired to rest on the eleventh night of their voluntary seclusion. It is then, when large shadows envelop the city, that common-sense creepingly visits the bedside of each inhabitant; and as the mysterious hour that is supposed to unnerve the bravest man approaches, great principles give way, and practical reasoning comes to the fore, to ease the questionist out of his moral jungle.