'We'll be back, Smith, at twelve-thirty,' she called; and with the
tossing of the horses' heads, resentful of the restraining reins, and
the clattering of hoofs that struck sparks from the roadway, they made
for the Park.


IV.

London is a stage that is always set. The youthful Dickens watching
the murky Thames found the setting for his moments of horror, just as
surely as cheery coach-houses, many of them but little changed to this
day, bespoke the entrance of Wellers senior and junior. London gave to
Wilde's exotic genius the scenes wherein his brilliantly futile
characters played their wordy dramas; then, turning on the author,
London's own vileness called to his. Thackeray the satirist needed no
further inspiration than the nicely drawn distinction between Belgravia
and Mayfair. Generous London refused nothing to the seeking mind. Nor
is it more sparing to-day than it was in the past; it yields its
inspiration to the gloom of Galsworthy, the pedagogic utterances of Mr.
Wells, the brilliant restlessness of Arnold Bennett, and the
ever-delightful humour of Punch.

On this morning in November London was in a gracious mood, and Hyde
Park, coloured with autumn's pensive melancholy, sparkled in the
sunlight. Snowy bits of cloud raced across the sky, like sails against
the blue of the ocean. November leaves, lying thick upon the grass,
stirred into life, and for an hour imagined the fickle wind to be a
harbinger of spring. Children, with laughter that knew no other cause
than the exhilaration of the morning, played and romped, weaving dreams