And then the nation and the newspapers turned with a sense of relief to happier things.  It seemed as if a new era of contentment was about to dawn.  Everybody had struck who could possibly want to strike or who could possibly be cajoled or bullied into striking, whether they wanted to or not.  The lighter and brighter side of life might now claim some attention.  And conspicuous among the other topics that sprang into sudden prominence was the pending Falvertoon divorce suit.

The Duke of Falvertoon was one of those human hors d’oeuvres that stimulate the public appetite for sensation without giving it much to feed on.  As a mere child he had been precociously brilliant; he had declined the editorship of the Anglian Review at an age when most boys are content to have declined mensa, a table, and though he could not claim to have originated the Futurist movement in literature, his “Letters to a possible Grandson,” written at the age of fourteen, had attracted considerable notice.  In later days his brilliancy had been less conspicuously displayed.  During a debate in the House of Lords on affairs in Morocco, at a moment when that country, for the fifth time in seven years, had brought half Europe to the verge of war, he had interpolated the remark “a little Moor and how much it is,” but in spite of the encouraging reception accorded to this one political utterance he was never tempted to a further display in that direction.  It began to be generally understood that he did not intend to supplement his numerous town and country residences by living overmuch in the public eye.

And then had come the unlooked-for tidings of the imminent proceedings for divorce.  And such a divorce!  There were cross-suits and allegations and counter-allegations, charges of cruelty and desertion, everything in fact that was necessary to make the case one of the most complicated and sensational of its kind.  And the number of distinguished people involved or cited as witnesses not only embraced both political parties in the realm and several Colonial governors, but included an exotic contingent from France, Hungary, the United States of North America, and the Grand Duchy of Baden.  Hotel accommodation of the more expensive sort began to experience a strain on its resources.  “It will be quite like the Durbar without the elephants,” exclaimed an enthusiastic lady who, to do her justice, had never seen a Durbar.  The general feeling was one of thankfulness that the last of the strikes had been got over before the date fixed for the hearing of the great suit.