"Very well, I will finance you. Not with a hundred roubles, but ten thousand, if you desire them, and the money is at your disposal to-morrow morning."
Greatly to Stranleigh's embarrassment the mad musician flung himself at his lordship's feet, seized a reluctant hand, and covered it with kisses.
"Tut-tut!" cried Stranleigh, with an uneasy laugh. "We are not rehearsing a sentimental play, you know. You are overwrought, and so, for that matter, am I. I consider you the greatest genius I have ever met, and your music will haunt me while I live. Have no fear that you will languish for lack of opportunity, but meantime let us to bed, for there is strenuous work to do in the morning."
"Work to do! Work to do! Yes; and I must keep my head cool and my hands steady."
He held out these capable instruments of his will, and Stranleigh touched the bell.
On the day that the luncheon to Prince Azov was given at the Guildhall, one of those imposing processions in which Londoners delight set out from the Russian Embassy in Belgrave Square, proceeded up Grosvenor Square to Hyde Park, then down Piccadilly to St. James's Street, and so through Pall Mall, the Strand, and Fleet Street, to the City.
