On her return to Hampstead, whither her father had removed from the grime and toil of work-a-day Birmingham, she found her home very dull. Because the Shearmans were manufacturers, the snobbishness of Hampstead, with its "first Thursdays," would have nothing to do with them; though, if the truth were told, Dan Shearman could have bought up most of his neighbours in Fitzjohn's Avenue, and was a sterling good Englishman into the bargain--which could not be said of some of those slippery, smooth-tongued City adventurers who resided behind the iron railings of that select thoroughfare. Running her slim white hands over the keys, she began the gay refrain of one of the chansonettes which she had learned in Paris--one of the gay songs of the boulevards, which was, perhaps, not very apropos for young ladies, but which she often sang because of its gay, blithe air-- Belloche's "L'Eventail Parisien." In her sweet, musical treble she sang gaily-- Des qu'arrivent les grand's chaleurs, A la terrass' des brasseries Les eventails de tout's couleurs Viennent bercer nos reveries. Car, pour allecher le client, Le camelot toujours cocasse En s'eventant d'un air bonasse Envoi' ce petit boniment: And then, with a swing and go, she sang the chorus-- Ca va, ca vient, Ca donn' de l'air, ca fait du bien. C'est vraiment magnifique. Quel instrument magique! Ca va, ca vient, Ca donn' de l'air et du maintien Et ca ne coute presque rien: Voici l'eventail parisien! Hardly had she concluded the final line when the door opened and a tall, dark-haired, good-looking young man entered, crossed to her, and, placing his hand upon her shoulder, bent and kissed her fondly. "Why, Jack, dear--you really are late!" the girl exclaimed. "Were you kept at the office?" "Yes, dearest," was his answer. "Or rather I had some work that I particularly wanted to finish, so I stayed behind." He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a pair of keen, merry brown eyes, a handsome face with high, intelligent brow, as yet unlined by care, a small, dark moustache, and a manner as courteous towards a woman as any diplomat accredited to the Court of St James. Jack Sainsbury, though merely an employee of the Ochrida Copper Corporation, a man who went by "Tube" to the City each morning and returned each night to the modest little flat in Heath Street, at which his sister Jane acted as housekeeper for him, was an honest, upright Englishman who had, in the first month of the war, done his duty and gone to the recruiting office of the Honourable Artillery Company to enlist. A defective elbow-joint had prevented him passing the doctor. And though no one in the office knew he had tried to join the new army, he had returned to the City and continued his soul-killing avocation of adding figures and getting out totals. His meeting with Elise Shearman was not without its romantic side.