Sunday evenings it was my wont to put in an appearance towards ten or
eleven, for the journey was deceptively long from Fitzroy Square, and
Nekrovitch, like most Russians, was himself of so unpunctual and irregular
a nature, that he seemed to foster the like habits in all his friends. The
nominal hour for these social gatherings to commence was eight, but not
till past nine did the guests begin to assemble, and till midnight and
later they would come dribbling in. Only one conscientiously punctual
German was ever known to arrive at the appointed hour, but the only reward
of the Teuton's mistaken zeal was to wait for hours in solitary state in
an unwarmed, unlighted room till his host and fellow-guests saw fit to
assemble.

The meeting-room, or parlour, or drawing-room in Nekrovitch's house was
by no means a palatial apartment. Small and even stuffy to the notions of
a hygienic Englishman, and very bare, scanty in furniture, and yet poorer
in decoration, this room bore evidence to its owners' contempt for such
impedimenta, and their entire freedom from slavery to household gods. It
was evidently the home of people used to pitching their tent often, and to
whom a feeling of settled security was unknown. But its occupants usually
made up for any deficiencies in their surroundings.

The company was always of a very mixed cosmopolitan character--Russian
Nihilists and exiles, English Liberals who sympathised with the Russian
constitutional movement, Socialists and Fabians, Anarchists of all
nationalities, journalists and literary men whose political views were
immaterial, the pseudo-Bohemian who professes interest in the "queer side
of life," all manner of faddists, rising and impecunious musicians and
artists--all were made welcome, and all were irresistibly attracted
towards the great Russian Nihilist.