Each in his mouth a living Herring bore——
Those aged ones waxed gay:
Clear rang their voices through the ocean’s roar,
‘Hooray, hooray, hooray!’”
“So they all got safe home again,” Bruno said, after waiting a minute to see if I had anything to say: he evidently felt that some remark ought to be made. And I couldn’t help wishing there were some such rule in Society, at the conclusion of a song—that the singer herself should say the right thing, and not leave it to the audience. Suppose a young lady has just been warbling (‘with a grating and uncertain sound’) Shelley’s exquisite lyric ‘I arise from dreams of thee’: how much nicer it would be, instead of your having to say “Oh, thank you, thank you!” for the young lady herself to remark, as she draws on her gloves, while the impassioned words ‘Oh, press it to thine own, or it will break at last!’ are still ringing in your ears, “—but she wouldn’t do it, you know. So it did break at last.”
“And I knew it would!” she added quietly, as I started at the sudden crash of broken glass. “You’ve been holding it sideways for the last minute, and letting all the champagne run out! Were you asleep, I wonder? I’m so sorry my singing has such a narcotic effect!”
CHAPTER XVIII.
QUEER STREET, NUMBER FORTY.
Lady Muriel was the speaker. And, for the moment, that was the only fact I could clearly realise. But how she came to be there—and how I came to be there—and how the glass of champagne came to be there—all these were questions which I felt it better to think out in silence, and not commit myself to any statement till I understood things a little more clearly.
‘First accumulate a mass of Facts: and then construct a Theory.’ That, I believe, is the true Scientific Method. I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and began to accumulate Facts.
A smooth grassy slope, bounded, at the upper end, by venerable ruins half buried in ivy, at the lower, by a stream seen through arching trees—a dozen gaily-dressed people, seated in little groups, here and there—some open hampers—the débris of a picnic—such were the Facts accumulated by the Scientific Researcher. And now, what deep, far-reaching Theory was he to construct from them? The Researcher found himself at fault. Yet stay! One Fact had escaped his notice. While all the rest were grouped in twos and in threes, Arthur was alone: while all tongues were talking, his was silent: while all faces were gay, his was gloomy and despondent. Here was a Fact indeed! The Researcher felt that a Theory must be constructed without delay.