In the world, when Ivor first entered it and it blooded him, there was abroad a new generation, newer than any generation had ever been before; and in all things, even beauty, singularly distinguished. Whereupon the old, instead of growing older in decent contrast, grew young again in a fury of contemplation. And meanwhile earthquakes shook the social fabric, but who cared? Hadn’t earthquakes always shaken the social fabric, and wasn’t the thing called “the social fabric” just so that earthquakes could shake it? Doctors and other professional men took to asking, with twinkles in their eyes: “What would happen if we went on strike?” They asked that every day, with twinkles in their eyes, but no one among them ever dreamed of answering. The answer was a lemon.
And in the meanwhile, Society shivered a little feverishly, filled now with the scions of those who had come over with the Jewish and American Conquests. Escutcheons were becoming valueless, how sinister soever the blots and clots upon them. And so, among the many Movements of the day—Movements to Clothe Poor Children beautifully, Movements to bring Sanity into Art, Movements to call the U.S.A. the Y.M.C.A.—there was brought to birth a Movement of Laughter among industrial classes at fine ladies and fine gentlemen, a Movement of Ridicule among artisans at aristocrats who were not now aristocratic enough whatever they may once have been.[A]
Every one was very serious, at that distant time, but very careless about other people’s seriousness. That is the difference between peace and war.
And, throughout those days, Ivor Pelham Marlay loitered prodigiously. He was careless with his money and concerned about his person, which had now acquired those elegant lines peculiar to affected young men who deliberately owe for their clothes. He was absent-minded at the right moments. He was a very pretty lover, especially over dinner: after dinner he would generally suggest dancing. He was audacious at conventional moments and conventional at adventurous moments. He had cheek, money, and moments of sincerity. He was apt at a misquotation, which is, of course, the only amusing part of a quotation. And he had a sudden smile which made one rather like him just when one had decided he was an unbearable young cub: he was, in fact, quite unbearable, even to himself; and exactly ripe, at the age of three-and-twenty, to be brought sharply to his senses. Magdalen Gray was very good at bringing men to their senses; but she used her own to do it with.
Magdalen Gray occurred suddenly: like a symbol with a lovely face, suddenly shaped out to his startled eyes from the shoddy stuff of his life. And the glimmer waxed into a great light....