The Hirelings by Israel Zangwill

Crowded as was the steamer with cultured Americans invading Europe, few knew that Rozenoffski was on board, or even that Rozenoffski was a pianist. The name, casually seen on the passengers' list, conveyed nothing but a strong Russian and a vaguer Semitic flavour, and the mere outward man, despite a leonine head, was of insignificant port and somewhat shuffling gait, and drew scarcely a second glance.

He would not have had it otherwise, he told himself, as he paced the almost deserted deck after dinner -- it was a blessing to escape from the perpetual adulation of music-sick matrons and schoolgirls -- but every wounded fibre in him was yearning for consolation after his American failure.