Around,
Edward Henry could descry the vast mysterious forms of the building's
skeleton--black in places, but in other places lit up by bright rays
from the gaiety below, and showing glimpses of that gaiety in
the occasional revelation of a woman's cloak through slits in the
construction. High overhead two gigantic cranes interlaced their arms;
and, even higher than the cranes, shone the stars of the clear spring
night.
The hour was nearly half-past twelve. The ceremony was concluded--and
successfully concluded. All London had indeed been present. Half the
aristocracy of England, and far more than half the aristocracy of the
London stage! The entire preciosity of the Metropolis! Journalists
with influence enough to plunge the whole of Europe into war! In one
short hour Edward Henry's right hand (peeping out from that superb
fur coat which he had had the wit to buy) had made the acquaintance of
scores upon scores of the most celebrated right hands in Britain. He
had the sensation that in future, whenever he walked about the best
streets of the West End, he would be continually compelled to stop and
chat with august and renowned acquaintances, and that he would always
be taking off his hat to fine ladies who flashed by nodding from
powerful motor-cars. Indeed, Edward Henry was surprised at the
number of famous people who seemed to have nothing to do but attend
advertising rituals at midnight or thereabouts.
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