the trivial illumination from shrouded lamps, as
you stare at the glow from shop windows, discreet,
a little mysterious, more provocative than the viv-
idest electrical displays. It recalls what
you have
imagined of Elizabethan London. And the city
does have an air of romance. It is very lovely,
too, because everything ugly is crushed beneath
the shadows, and everything beautiful acquires a
meaning new and sentimental.
Under such conditions the city offers exciting contrasts. It is magic to step from the medieval romance of the streets into the glittering present of hotels, restaurants, or theatres. Within doors the only material alteration is the carefully drawn blinds. As many lights burn. As far as you can judge as many people crowd the world of pleasure. Yet there is as great a change inside, only it isn't physical. The ever-present officer and soldier point it for you. It takes some time to grow accustomed to these splendid men in uniform. You stare at them, observe their unstudied gaiety, and are aware of a vast depression. Some are back from the front on a few days' leave. Others, by the blue uniform of the hospital, or by their pallid faces, or by their missing limbs, advertise their convalescence with a pitiful pride. The greater number, however, are men still in training, on leave from the various cantonments. One
