Lionel Somerville woke at 8 a.m. in the freshest of spirits. All the frenzy of the night before had vanished, and as he lay on his bed, smiling, he tried to think over what had happened.

“Did I not kill myself last night? Anyway, I did not succeed, or perhaps it was all a delusion! I must have been in a bad way. It is that infernal wound that troubles me; I have never been quite myself since I came home.—Well! what is the matter with this place?—Where are the curtains, the carpet?” Sitting up in his bed he stared all round. “And the blankets, sheets—oh! my shirt is gone!” And as he jumped up from the bed on to the bare floor, he stood as the Almighty had made him. He rushed to the window, saw the streets empty, the doors of all the houses closed, and no one going in or out of them. After staring out of the window he spotted but one boy coming along leisurely on his tricycle cart, the butcher’s boy no doubt; a fit of laughter seized him, followed by hilarious convulsions, as he saw the water-cart coming across the square, with its street Neptune indolently reclining on the seat.

“This is funny! What the devil does it mean? Have these people gone clean mad? Why does not the police stop them?”

Lionel left the window and rang the bell. A few seconds after there was a gentle knock at the door.

“Yes, my lord.” It was the suave voice of Temple, my lord’s faithful valet.

“I say, Temple”—Lionel spoke through the door—“what’s the meaning of all this?”

“I cannot tell, my lord. Your lordship’s bathroom is ready, and breakfast is on the table.”

“You must be mad, Temple! How am I to get out of this room without my clothes? Bring in something—anything—a wrap of some sort, a bath-rug.”

“Not one to be found, my lord, and all the shops are closed.”

“How are you clad, Temple?”

“I’ve nothing on, my lord, and Willows, Mr Jacques, are all in the same condition. But I can assure your lordship that the morning is very hot.”

“And you think that sufficient, do you? Well, I don’t! I am blowed if I can make this out, or if I know what I am going to do. Bring me a tub, a large can of hot water, and later on bring me a tray with a couple of eggs and tea. I am famished!”

Footsteps retreated; Lionel walked round and round his spacious bedroom. Everything was in its usual place as far as furniture went, but there was not a vestige of drapery or carpeting; the cushions had disappeared, and only the down lay on the floor; the chairs, easy fauteuils, the couch were despoiled of all covering and showed their bare construction of wood and cane-work. The bed was a simple pallet, the rugs had vanished. Lionel entered his dressing-room, the cupboards were open, and empty, when yesterday they had been crammed with all his clothes. The drawers were hanging out of their chest—empty; shirts, flannels, silk pyjamas, neckties, waistcoats, all the arsenal of a young man about town had dissolved into thin air. This was more than strange, and the Earl became more and more amazed as he went on opening boxes, baskets, and gaping at the empty receptacles. He again looked out of the window—his dressing-room had a full view of Grosvenor Square—and saw many more boys on tricycle carts; several satyr-milkmen were rattling their cans down the fashionable areas, and the water-cart went on slowly spouting its L.C.C. Niagara over dusty roads. The effect was decidedly comical. He came back to his bedroom, and once more looked out of the window. Looking up at the opposite house he saw a form passing to and fro. That was Lady Vera’s house. Could it be she? He smiled. It might be the maid. Who knows? There were few of his lady friends he would recognise again in this new garb. After his tub and breakfast he felt in buoyant spirits and physically fit, although he could not quite account for this new mood of his, for nothing had altered in his life. He gave a side glance at himself in the cheval-glass; he was always the Earl of Somerville, heir to vast riches, engaged to Gwendolen Towerbridge, and this joke would pass. It was perhaps the new trick of some gang of thieves, whom the police would be able to catch in a few days. The thing to find out was whether it was the same all over London. Temple told Lord Somerville, as he brought the breakfast tray to the door, that the areas down the streets and the square were a bevy of buzzing gossipers. Admiral B., who lived two doors off, was in the same plight, and was using strong language to his poor wife; and as to Field-Marshal W., whose house was in the square, he was beside himself, had howled at his man for his pyjamas and sent the fellow rolling down the passage for appearing in his presence in an Adamitic vestment. Temple thought this very unjust, as the Field-Marshal was in the same dilemma; but then Temple had no sense of the fitness of things, and certainly had no sense of humour, as he came to ask his master what were his orders for Marshall, the coachman. Lionel naturally sent Marshall to the devil.

“Does he think I am going to drive in an open Victoria as I am, with him on the box as he is?” And he raved at the poor valet, and asked him what they all felt in the housekeeper’s room. To which Temple replied, that the men did not so much mind, and that the women would get used to it. They had all their work cut out for them, and no time to think about difficult problems. Evidently it was different with them, and the Earl dropped the subject, inquiring whether the Times had come. But the postman had not yet arrived.

“What on earth can I do?” murmured Lionel. Then he thought of sending Temple to get him a pile of new French novels to while away the tedious hours. By the way, he thought suddenly, he would like to know something definite about last night’s adventure; he did not like to tell his man about his foolish attempt, but if he had seen the revolver on the carpet, he was prepared to give him some sort of explanation. Temple came back saying that every book had disappeared, and gave a graphic description of what was once the library of my lord. Lionel timidly inquired if he had not noticed anything peculiar on the floor, nor any stray object lying about? No, Temple had seen nothing except the total disappearance of all draperies, chair coverings, carpets, books, etc. There was nothing on the floor, only a little more dust than before in front of the writing-desk. This satisfied Lionel, who made up his mind that the whole thing was the effect of his own imagination, very probably occasioned by this miserable wound which at times was a great worry to him; and he settled down to forget the past and to solve the present in trying to explain this strange event. But in vain did he endeavour to do so, his eyes persistently went back to the window, and he constantly got up to watch the opposite house and the few strollers that ventured out; of course they were all servants who so immodestly exposed themselves to his investigation, still it amused him much more to watch the street than to ponder these grave questions.

“Well, I think I was a damned fool last night, provided I did such a foolish thing as to try and blow my brains out. This is worth living for, and I have not been amused for many years as I am now. It must have something to do with last night’s storm. If this is going to last, I suppose the old fellows at the Royal Institute will make it their business to ponder this stupendous phenomenon.”

Temple brought the luncheon tray about 1.30; only a couple of kidneys, a glass of Apollinaris water; it would be sufficient for that day, as he could not get out that afternoon and have a ride. Then more thinking, with as little attention as before. After that, tea with a bit of toast and no butter, and more thinking, interrupted at times by sudden glances through the window. Temple came once or twice to his master’s door with all the news that was afloat in the areas, butlers’ pantries, saddle-rooms, and although this gossip originated on the backstairs, it was welcomed by the heir of great estates, for, at this moment he could get no direct information, and what his valet brought him was as good as he could ever get. The valet had reminded my lord that to-day was the Levee, which the latter was to attend. This amused him very much, for was it likely that the Admiral, the Field-Marshal, the latest V.C. would ever venture beyond their bed-rug—oh! that even was gone—to go and meet their ruler in their skins? No, these things were impossible, and the structure of Society would soon crumble to ashes if one man unadorned was to meet another man unclad. Of course Lord Somerville was very anxious to know whether all London was in the same condition, to which the faithful valet replied, that he had it from the milkman that Belgravia was as silent as a tomb, Bayswater a wilderness, and Buckingham Palace a desert. As to the omnibuses, after one journey up and down they had given up running at all, as no one wanted a drive, and the few servants and working-men about preferred walking. Towards seven o’clock, Lionel felt inclined to have a little food, and he ordered a grilled sole and a custard. That would do for him, but evidently it did not do for Temple, who was quite shocked at his master’s abstemiousness, and recoiled before appearing in front of the cook with such a meagre menu. “He would be capable of throwing a dish at my head, my lord; he hardly believed me when I told him your lordship wanted two kidneys for lunch.”

But Lionel was determined, and would hear of nothing more for dinner and sent the cook to Jericho through the intermediary of Temple, adding that he could not eat more when he had no proper exercise, that he had had sufficient, having eaten when he felt hungry and left off when he had had enough—which he had not done for many years.

“Yes, my lord,” had respectfully answered the faithful valet, who perhaps at the same time thought his master’s remark a wise one.

The evening went by, bringing no change in the situation; and by nine o’clock it was universally known, and partly accepted, that from the Lord Chancellor to the Carlton waiter, frock-coat or no coat, woolsack or three-legged crock, a man was to be a man for a’ that. One great calamity had befallen them all, and in one minute levelled the whole of London’s inhabitants to the state of nature. The question arose in my lord’s mind whether they were sufficiently fitted for that state? Could they face the God Pan with as much composure as they had faced all the other gods? He heard the heavy footsteps of the lamplighter methodically going through his work. It was strange that he had never once thought of stopping his nocturnal routine. Evidently whatever happened, the streets had to be lighted, and Lionel mused long and deeply on these questions of duty and force of habit, as he looked out of the window into the street and observed the long shadow descending over London.

“Was it the sense of duty that prompted the actions of these menials?” He could not bring himself to think that, and he could not help believing that amongst his own superior class the sense of duty was always accompanied by a powerful sense of the fitness of things, so that if a virtue clashed with prejudices and the accepted standard of propriety, it was desirable that they should build up some new duty more in harmony with their worldly principles. There, no doubt, lay the difference between the upper classes and the lower, and which made the former shrink before breaking the laws of decorum, when the latter saw no objection to performing daily pursuits in their skins, unconcerned with higher motives of purity and exalted ideals.

Whether Lord Somerville had touched the keynote of social ethics remained unknown, but he retired early to his pallet and slept soundly through the still night.

Next day was the same, the day after identical, and the week passed thus without any change in the London phenomenon. Had the carpet in the Arabian tales carried the whole metropolis to some undiscovered planet, the wonderment could not have been greater. After a few days, Lionel observed that the L.C.C. Neptune had acquired more ease, more laisser-aller in his movements and postures, and decidedly sat less stiffly on his high perch; the butcher’s boy also carried his tray on his shoulder with distinct dash and comeliness. From his daily observations he came to the conclusion that London life, in its mechanical working, was going on pretty much as usual. He questioned his faithful valet, who by this time had become more than a servant, being newsagent and Court circular rolled into one. What he learned through the keyhole was astounding. No House of Commons, no Upper House were sitting! How could anything go on at that rate? Ah! that was the strangest part of it, for materially everything seemed to be as usual; the tradespeople came round for orders, and there was no danger of starving. The wheels of life kept on rolling, for, those who represented the axle were still in the centre of the wheel, and nothing could remove them. It was the upper part of the edifice that had given way, or at least had willingly retired into modest seclusion. The wheels might run for a long time without the coach, but the coach had no power to advance in any way without the wheels. This is what puzzled Lionel so much; he had always believed that if Society took it into its head to strike, the world would come to a standstill; and here was a colossal emergency in which one part of the edifice went on as if nothing had happened, while the other—in his eyes the important one—was forced to retire behind its walls, if it meant to keep sacred the principles of modesty and decorum; and still the whole structure had not foundered. Of course it could not last for ever. Nothing did last; and this axiom consoled Lord Somerville, as he cradled himself into the belief that the present condition would never answer in this eminently aristocratic empire. Why had not such a thing happened to Parisians? “I could safely declare that they would not have made such a fuss about it. They would have taken the adventure as it is, if transient, and would have accepted the joke with rollicking fun; if serious, they would have made the best of it, seen the plastic side of the situation, and at once endeavoured to live up to it as gracefully as possible. Yes, there lay the whole difference between the Latin race and the Anglo-Saxon; the former aimed at beauty, and the other, as the Bishop of Sunbury had said at Islington, aimed at a moral attitude.

“I suppose there is a certain amount of truth in this,” thought the Earl, as he sipped his cup of tea, “for here am I living up to a standard of punctilious modesty, which would even put the chaste Susannah to shame; and Heaven knows I never have been overburdened with principles, but, quite on the contrary, was oblivious of any moral attitude. It must be that the ambiante of this country is of a superior quality to that of any other.”

There was a gentle knock at the door: “The Bishop of Welby has sent round to know whether your lordship would allow your women-servants to help in the finding of a suitable text for a sermon he wishes to deliver when this state has ceased? His lordship is in a great stress, being unable to lay his hand on his Bible, and finds himself at a loss to recall all the contents of the Holy Scriptures.”

“By all means, Temple—I am always delighted to be of any use to the bishop, although, for my part, I regret I cannot help him in this. Can you remember any suitable text, Temple?”

Temple made no reply.

“I say, Temple, how do the dowagers take this kind of thing? I am rather curious to know how they manage.”

The valet inquired from the upper housemaid, who very soon gathered information from her friends along the areas, and in an hour the faithful newsagent had collected a bushel of gossip. The attitude of the dowagers towards the social calamity was one of stubborn resistance and of fervent prayer. The old Lady Pendelton had said to her maid, through the keyhole, that it was only a question of time, and that with a little display of self-control, for which the race was so celebrated, they would soon pull through this ghastly experience. Some of the old ladies, whose bedrooms were contiguous to those of their daughters, knocked on the wall exhorting their virtuous progeny to persevere in the ways of the righteous and to keep up a good heart. Out-door gossips would be supplied to them: “Sarah does not mind going out,” had shouted through the wall one of the pillars of female Society, “you see, dear Evelyn, these sort of people do not possess the same quality of modesty that we do—they have to toil, not to feel.” So thought the dowager, and many more believed this to be true. What a load of injustice was settled by such an argument!

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.

“It is very bad this, Temple. I think something ought to be done for the good of the public; but what?”

“I believe that if your lordship would only show yourself—I beg your pardon, my lord—but an example would be beneficial, and your lordship is so popular, I am sure you would carry the day.”

“Do you really believe that my showing myself would be a general signal? You see, Temple, I do not want to find myself all alone in the streets of London, with all the dowagers grinning at their windows. That would never do.”

“Oh! your lordship need not fear. There is a great feeling of discontent among the higher classes; and before you could say Jack Robinson they would all follow your example.”

“That is certainly very encouraging. Bring me some boiling water to drink. No breakfast, thanks.”

The wave of revolt was rising furiously and threatening to drown all principles of decency. Utter disgust filled the hearts of Londoners when they retired to rest on the eleventh night of their voluntary seclusion. It is then, when large shadows envelop the city, that common-sense creepingly visits the bedside of each inhabitant; and as the mysterious hour that is supposed to unnerve the bravest man approaches, great principles give way, and practical reasoning comes to the fore, to ease the questionist out of his moral jungle.