The majority of the keepers had become so attached to
their charges that they returned to work of their own accord.
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.
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