And the good-natured enthusiast, who was a terror to many of his friends, ran off to secure another victim.
Philip had sent his hansom home. Shortly before eleven he quitted the club, intending to walk to Park Lane by a circuitous route, long enough to consume a big cigar.
He chanced to pass the hall in which the concert was to take place. A few people were hurrying from the stage door. Evidently a rehearsal had just taken place. A short man, with a huge cluster of flowing locks, that offered abundant proof of his musical genius, ran out with a violin case in his hand.
He was about to enter a hansom waiting near the curb, but the driver said:
"Engaged, sir."
The man did not seem to understand, so the cabby barred his way with the whip and shook his head. Then the stranger rushed to a neighboring cab rank—evidently an excitable gentleman, with the high-strung temperament of art.
A lady quitted the hall a few seconds later.
"Are you engaged?" Philip heard her ask the cabman.
"No, miss."
"Take me to No. 44, Maida Crescent, Regent's Park," she said. After arranging her skirts daintily, she entered the vehicle.