It was the evening of Madame Okraska's concert at the old St. James Hall. London was still the place of the muffled roar and the endearing ugliness. Horse-'buses plied soberly in an unwidened Picadilly. The private motor was a curiosity. Berlin had not been emulated in an altered Mall nor New York in the façades of giant hotels. The Saturday and Monday pops were still an institution; and the bell of the muffin-man in such a wintry season, passed frequently along the foggy streets and squares. Already the epoch seems remote.