of a master; the only fault lay in the execution, which was imperfect but yet full of brilliance. Every ear was charmed, and all eyes fascinated by the magic mastery of the white keys by the small, sunburnt hands, scintillating with rings. Yet the whole affair lasted but a minute, and was rudely broken off in the middle of a bar.
"I really can't stand it any longer," drawled the musician, rising.
"Stand what?" asked Mr. Villiers, who thought somebody must have been talking, and was prepared to reprimand the offender.
"Your piano," replied the other. "My dear sir, it's painful!"
The manager, like many of his friends, was duly taken aback; but Mrs. Villiers (a woman who venerated rudeness in a man) instantly advanced from the threshold to fill the breach.
"I quite agree with Mr. Fullarton," said she. "It is a terrible instrument; but that was a very beautiful piece; may I ask what it was?"
