When the first shock was over, and Lord Somerville had ceased wondering at a class of people who did not mind being seen in their Edenic attire, he dropped into a humorous mood, and passed in review a good many of his friends, men and women.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed in a fit of laughter, “I wonder what old Bentham looks like in his skin? The Stock Exchange will be a rum circus when they all race for cash as modern gladiators! And what of Pender, and of Clavebury; and Gladys Ventnor, Arabella Chale and _tutti quanti_?”
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.