moment the whole room seemed to be filled with a strange light, and
he saw the wonderful figure of a man with a shining face and eyes that
seemed infinitely sad and at the same time infinitely luminous. The
figure held a lyre, and said to him in Greek:--

"It is well. All will be well. I will take your place at the concert!"

When the vision had vanished, the half written telegram on his table had
disappeared also.

* * * * *

The party at A---- House that night was brilliant rather than large. In
one of the drawing-rooms there was a piano, in front of which were six
or seven rows of gilt chairs. The other rooms were filled with shifting
groups of beautiful women, and men wearing orders and medals. There was
a continuous buzz of conversation, except in the room where the music
was going on; and even there in the background there was a subdued
whispering. The violinist was playing some elaborate nothings, and
displaying astounding facility, but the audience did not seem to be much
interested, for when he stopped, after some faint applause, conversation
broke loose like a torrent.

"I do hope," said some one to the lady next him, "that the music will be
over soon. One gets wedged in here, one doesn't dare move, and one had
to put up with having one's conversation spoilt and interrupted."

"It's an extraordinary thing," answered the lady, "that nobody dares
give a party in London without some kind of entertainment. It _is_ such
a mistake!"