table.--It had not taken them long to become friends;
fellow-countrymen, of the same age, with similar aims and interests,
they had soon slipped into one of the easy-going friendships of youth.

A quarter to five! As the strokes from the neighbouring church--clock
died away, the melody of Siegfried's horn was whistled up from the
street, and looking over, Maurice saw his friend. He seized his music
and went hastily down the four flights of stairs.

They crossed the river and came to newer streets. It was delightful
out-of-doors. A light breeze met them as they turned, and a few
ragged, fleecy clouds that it was driving up, only made the sky seem
bluer, The two young men walked leisurely, laughing and talking rather
loudly. Maurice Guest had already, in dress and bearing, taken on a
touch of musicianly disorder, but Dove's lengthier residence had left
no trace upon him; he might have stepped that day from the streets of
the provincial English town to which he belonged. His well brushed
clothes sat with an easy inelegance, his tie was small, his linen
clean, and the only concession he made to his surroundings, the
broad-brimmed, soft felt hat, looked oddly out of place on his
close-cut hair. He carried himself erectly, swinging a little on his
hips.

As they went, he passed in review the important items of the day:
so-and-so had strained a muscle, so-and-so had spoilt a second piano.
But his particular interest centred upon that evening's
ABENDUNTERHALTUNG. A man named Schilsky, whom it was no
exaggeration to call their finest, very finest violinist was to play
Vieuxtemps' Concerto in D. Dove all but smacked his lips as he spoke
of it. In reply to a query from Maurice, he declared with vehemence