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suddenly engulfed in a vaporous ebon sea. With muffled, angry shrieks,
the metropolitan trains deposited their shoals of shivering, coughing
travelers at the several stations, where sleepy officials, rendered
vicious by the weather, snatched the tickets from their hands with
offensive haste and roughness. Omnibus conductors grew ill-tempered
and abusive without any seemingly adequate reason; shopkeepers became
flippant, disobliging, and careless of custom; cabmen shouted derisive
or denunciatory language after their rapidly retreating fares; in
short, everybody was in a discontented, almost spiteful humour, with
the exception of those few aggressively cheerful persons who are in the
habit of always making the best of everything, even bad weather. Down
the long wide vista of the Cromwell Road, Kensington, the fog had it all
its own way; it swept on steadily, like thick smoke from a huge fire,
choking the throats and blinding the eyes of foot-passengers, stealing
through the crannies of the houses, and chilling the blood of even
those luxurious individuals who, seated in elegant drawing-rooms before
blazing fires, easily forgot that there were such bitter things as cold
and poverty in that outside world against which they had barred their
windows. At one house in particular--a house with gaudy glass doors
and somewhat spoiled yellow silk curtains at the windows, a house that
plainly said to itself, "Done up for show!" to all who cared to examine
its exterior--there stood a closed brougham, drawn by a prancing pair
of fat horses. A coachman of distinguished appearance sat on the box;
a footman of irreproachable figure stood waiting on the pavement, his
yellow-gloved hand resting elegantly on the polished silver knob of
the carriage door. Both these gentlemen were resolute and inflexible
of face; they looked as if they had determined on some great deed that
should move the world to wild applause; but, truth to tell, they had
only just finished a highly satisfactory "meat-tea," and before this
grave silence had fallen upon them, they had been discussing the
advisability of broiled steak and onions for supper. The coachman had
inclined to plain mutton-chops as being easier of digestion; the footman
had earnestly asseverated his belief in the superior succulence and
sweetness of the steak and onions, and in the end he had gained his
point. This weighty question being settled, they had gradually grown
reflective on the past, p