It was the day of the private view at the Royal Academy.

The great courtyard of Burlington House was full of carriages, and a continuous stream of guests was pressing up the red-carpeted stairs, over which presided some of the most imposing individuals known to the eyes of Londoners, second only to Her Majesty's beefeaters in glory of scarlet apparel.

Inside, however, as it was not yet luncheon-time, the rooms were but moderately filled.

It was possible to see the pictures, to appreciate the spring dresses, and to single out a friend even across the Long Gallery.

The usual people were there: Academicians of the old school and Academicians of the new; R.A.'s coming from Kensington and the 'regions of culture,' and R.A.'s coming from more northerly and provincial neighbourhoods where art lives a little desolately and barely, in want of the graces and adornings with which 'culture' professes to provide her.
There were politicians still capable--as it was only the first week of May--of throwing some zest into their amusements.