“And hence your idea of a prize. I think that had you decided to award it to the man who recognised another man’s wife you would have been more successful.”
“We should have been bankrupt by the end of a week, my lord; besides, this was a feature of the old Society, and we want to launch it on a totally novel basis. Originality must be our watchword.”
Lord Somerville, having been struck by the keen judgment and foresight of the little buffoon, had willingly promised him his support in every way. He would send round to all his friends and spread the idea amongst the Upper Ten, who would be sure to lead the movement and give a salutary example to the middle classes. Arrived at the corner of Park Lane, Lionel had wistfully inquired of Danford whether he knew Gwendolen Towerbridge? Dick was sorry, but he could not help Lord Somerville in that line. Engaged people were quite out of his department, Lord Somerville would have to solve that problem for himself; to which Lionel had shrugged his shoulders: just as well guess whose face was behind a thick mask.
That evening Lionel sat up late in his library planning in his mind the organisation of the new Society of social guides. He frequently interrupted his work to look up at his father’s portrait; his type was not unlike hundreds of men he had seen during the day, and he wondered how he could recognise his own father were he alive? Would not the latter have been slightly bewildered in this Babel? Would not his pedantic theories on good breeding receive a shock were he now to step out of his frame and take a stroll through the streets of London?
Towards two o’clock in the morning the Earl had memorised the whole synopsis of the new Society, to be launched under the gracious patronage of the Earl of A.B.C. and of Her Grace the Duchess of X.Y.Z., and he retired to his pallet of plaited rushes with a sigh of contentment at the prospect of a new spectacular show, and with a sense of relief at the thought that Gwendolen was lost to him, more irrevocably lost in this general unmasking than if a vessel had foundered on a rock, leaving her on a desert island.
In a few days London resumed its usual occupations; we cannot say that it looked quite the same, but Society apparently was in the swing once more. How could it be otherwise, when the flowers were in full bloom, the birds were warbling and the sun was shining? The brittle veneer of false modesty had crumbled under the power of necessity, and the inside of a fortnight had witnessed the downfall of prudery. No scandal ever reached two weeks’ duration; how could a virtuous craze have outlived it? Very different would it have been had half London appeared clad, while the other half remained unclothed; the contrast would have been offensive, and have called for wrathful indignation; but as everyone was in the same way, unquestioned submission became a virtue as well as a necessity. Thus argued Society, for the hard blow dealt by the infuriated elements was fast healing, and the ex-fashionable and would-be smart people hailed Lord Somerville’s new plan with enthusiasm. There was a great demand for social guides, a feverish excitement to take lessons at once in the art of observation, and a rush to attend lectures on physiognomy. At first curiosity was a powerful stimulant. “It would be ripping,” thought the Society girl, “to find out whether Lady Lilpot and Lady Brownrigg’s figures, which were so admired last season, were really bona-fide, or only the fabrics of padding and whalebone.” But very soon laziness damped their former ardour, and once more Society, ever incorrigible in its taste for ready-made pleasure, started the fashion of having social guides attached to their respective households. Had not ladies of fashion, men about town, formerly needed the services of French maids and experienced valets? It goes without saying that after the storm the constant attendance of these two custodians of the wardrobe were more irksome than pleasant, for they reminded persons of fashion of their vanished glory. These were therefore dismissed, for the housemaids could easily fulfil the scanty duties of the present dressing-rooms. Instead of the departed domestics, social guides were requisitioned. Lord Somerville was generally congratulated on his luck in obtaining the services of Dick Danford, who was considered to be at the very top of his position. He united an infallible memory to an astounding accuracy of inductive methods in human generalisation; but what most commended him to his patron and pupil were the philosophical and satirical sidelights he threw at every turn on Society and the various professions. As Lionel hourly conferred with his Mentor, he became more and more enthralled in his work of social reform; his daily walks through the parks at Dick’s elbow were a continual source of interest, and the object lessons in human nature, provided by the London streets, threw him at times into the wildest spirits.
The guides had a hard time of it in trying to bring their pupils out of that reserve so dear to the race, and they found great difficulty in making them act with more initiative. As long as the guide was at hand, it was all well, but when left to themselves, lady pupils and gentlemen students could not be brought to use their own judgment, and boldly venture to recognise people without the guide’s help, so fearful were they of committing social blunders. Still, Danford was sanguine; he kept saying that if the British lion had, in a fortnight, conquered the sense of shame, he would, in a few days more, throw pride to the four winds. He turned out to be quite right, for in ten days more London was launching out into a whirlpool of festivities.
The little buffoon was very entertaining, and kept his pupil in fits of laughter, relating his various experiences in the smart circles of London. Over and over again a pleading voice whispered to him in the Park or at a party, “Oh dear Mr Danford, I wish you would look in to-morrow at my small tea-fight. Do you think Lord Somerville could spare you for an hour or two? His father was such an old friend of mine. I have asked a very few people, but after the butler’s announcement I shall never know one from another—hi! hi! hi!” Another would in a deep, rough voice tell him to run in at luncheon Friday next: “Mrs Bilton is simply longing to meet you; she has a daft daughter who persists in taking the footman for her pa—very awkward, isn’t it? I am sure, Mr Danford, you would teach her in a few lessons how to recognise her dad, for the girl is rather quick otherwise.” “Ah, madam,” had replied the smart little guide, “it takes a very wise girl to know her own father in our present Society; I have seen strange instances of divination, and in many cases the girl, instead of a duffer, turned out to be too wise.” Or else a distracted and jealous wife who could not distinguish her lord and master in the crowd, appealed to the mimic, imploring him to tell her by what special sign she might know him again. To which Dick ironically answered that he was not teaching people how to see moles, freckles and scars on human bodies, but was instructing them in the art of physiognomy.
“But my husband is like thousands of men.”
“You mean by that, that he is without any facial expression?” and Dick shrugged his shoulders.