Читать книгу The storm of London: a social rhapsody онлайн

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The day was young yet, hardly 11.30, and the hot rays of the sun were piercing through the foliage of the broad avenue facing the Palace. Solitary individuals walked on the cool grass, sat on stone benches and iron chairs; but none talked to anyone, and there lacked in this mythological picture the animation that humanity generally brings into a landscape. Birds were busy chirping, making love, mock quarrelling, and the leaves rustled softly as a breath of hot wind caressed the branches of trees.

Lord Somerville lay down on a stone bench, linking his arms behind his head. He let his fanciful imagination have full play: allowing philosophy to suggest to him queer problems concerning the personal appearance of some of his lady friends. A chuckle rose to his lips; a sparkling twinkle lighted up his pale blue eye. He saw at a distance a small, dapper man coming this way; his head was well set on his shoulders; there was no hesitation in his step, no awkwardness in his bearing; one of his hands was placed on one hip, the other dropped gracefully at his side, as he stood within a few yards of the young heir to large properties.