ocotte Bonne Femme_, _Rognons Sautes_,
_Champignons_, _Caille Royal aux Raisins_, _Tournedos Saute Mascotte_,
_Noisette d'Agneau Fines Herbes_, _Poussin de Hambourg Vapeur_,
_Medaillon Ris de Veau Colbert_, _Terrine de Boeuf a la Mode Glacee_,
_Supreme de Chapon Jeannette_ ... and so on, almost indefinitely. I saw
nothing in the fact--nor had I seen anything in the fact--that the menu
contained not one English word; but later in the week these affectations
of French dishes became highly significant. They were really the symbol
of London's night romance. They were the tuning fork which gave the
pitch for London pleasures. For romance and gaiety in London are grafted
to an otherwise unromantic and lugubrious hulk. All joys in that
terrible city are lugged from overseas, and, in the process of suturing,
the spontaneity has been lost, the buoyancy has disappeared, the honesty
has vanished.

But no people can be without romance. No nation can withstand forever
the engines of repression. Not all the moral lawmakers of England have
succeeded in stamping out the natural impulses. Hypocrisy, that great
mediator, sits into the game and stacks the cards. There is no more
sensuous dining room in the world than the Savoy. There is no more
impressive vision of human beings in the primitive act of eating than
can be gained from the top of the stairway which leads into that great
double room. And nowhere on earth is there a more cosmopolitan gathering
than sits down to the Savoy supper when the theatres are over. Here at
least is visual romance; and when we inspect the people at closer range
we glimpse a more intimate romance. One catches snatches of conversation
from a dozen languages within the radius of hearing. Here is modern
civilisation at apogee--the final word in luxury--the _denouement_ of
spectacular life. Go to the Aquarium in St. Petersburg, to the Adlon in
Berlin, to the Bristol in Vienna, to the Cafe de Paris; go wherever you
will--to Cairo, to Buenos Aires, to Madrid--the Savoy at the supper hour
surpasses them all. From the pantalooned giants who relieve you of your
outer garments to the farthest table in the room where the great windows
overlook the Embankment Gardens, there is not one note to mar the
gorgeous _ensemble_.

But we must not tarry too long amid the jewelled women, the impeccable
music and the subdued conversation of the Savoy. In fact, it is not
possible to linger. No sooner have we hastened through the