e, the millions of
souls that make up the great city pursued their millions of destinies,
undeterred by biting cold and grisly fog. For it was a day in the life
of England's capital; and every day there is a great human drama that
must be played--a drama mingling tragedy and humour with no regard to
values or proportion; a drama that does not end with death, but renews
its plot with the breaking of every dawn; a drama knowing neither
intermezzo nor respite: and the name of it is--LONDON.

CHAPTER II

CONCERNING LADY DURWENT'S FAMILY.

I.

Lady Durwent was rather a large woman, of middle age, with a high
forehead unruffled by thought, and a clear skin unmarred by wrinkles.
She had a cheerfulness that obtruded itself, like a creditor, at
unpropitious moments; and her voice, though not displeasing, gave the
impression that it might become volcanic at any moment. She also
possessed a considerable theatrical instinct, with which she would
frequently manoeuvre to the centre of the stage, to find, as often as
not, that she had neglected the trifling matter of learning any lines.

She was the daughter of an ironmonger in the north of England, whose
father had been one of the last and most famous of a long line of
smugglers. It was perhaps the inherited love of adventure that
prompted the ironmonger, against his wife's violent protest, to invest
the savings of a lifetime in an obscure Canadian silver-mine. To the
surprise of every one (including its promoters), the mine produced
high-grade ore in such abundance that the ironmonger became a man of
means. Thereupon, at the instigation of his wife, they moved from
their little town into the city of York, where he purchased a large,
stuffily furnished house, sat on Boards, became a councillor, wore
evening-dress for dinner, and died a death of absolute respectability.

Before the final event he had the satisfaction of seeing his only child
Sybil married to Arthur, Lord Durwent. (The evening-clothes for dinner
were a direct result.) Lord Durwent was a well-behaved young man of
unimpeachable character and family, and he was sincerely attracted by
the agreeable expanse of lively femininity found in the fair Sybil.
After a wedding that left her mother a triumphant wreck and appreciably
hastened her father's demise, she was duly installed as the mistress of
Roselawn, the Durwent family seat, and its tributary farms. The
tenants gave her an address of welcome; her h