There were five “artists.” Three young men opened the performance with a trio for piano, violin, and ‘cello. The ladies who had had tea knitted and conversed. When the performance was over they went into raptures about it. A middle-aged and melancholy-looking man with a beard followed. He was the feature of the occasion, having been strongly recommended by Lady Whigham as a “finished and accomplished vocalist.” He sang a series of very modern French songs. “It sounds to me as if something was wrong,” commented Mrs. Dobson to Maud, who replied-- “Sh! mamma, they’re not supposed to have any tune.” Lady Whigham in the front seat was applauding vigorously, so every one else, especially Mrs. Dobson, did the same, with the result that the accomplished vocalist sang them all over again, making exactly the same faces. After that an old lady in a yellow wig livened things up with a rendering of Tosti’s “Good-bye” in a cracked contralto. While the audience was applauding, Joan noticed that Jack Leclerc got up. He was making his way gently to the door, evidently anxious to escape observation. Her heart was in her mouth, but she sat on stonily, determined that he should not know she had seen him. At the door he encountered Mrs. Dobson. “So sorry, I must run, Mrs. Dobson,” he said, holding out his hand. “Oh, I am sorry, Mr.--er--Captain Leclerc. Can’t you wait till the end? Joan will be so disappointed not to see you.” “Oh, thank you. The fact is--” Leclerc stopped, looking a little embarrassed. But Mrs. Dobson did not notice this and ran on-- “And what did you think of the concert, Mr.--er--Captain Leclerc?” The musician’s professional conscience forbade a complimentary reply. “It was very bad,” he said, “except the old Frenchman. That woman had no business to sing in public, and as for those youths who call themselves artists--why aren’t they in the trenches?” And hastily touching Mrs. Dobson’s hand, he slipped away: the expression in her rubicund face was pained as she gazed after him. * * * * * After the concert had come to an end and the guests had gradually dispersed, Lady Whigham and Mrs. Dobson counted up the money and discussed how much each performer should receive. This _tête-à-tête_ with Lady Whigham was what Mrs. Dobson most enjoyed the whole afternoon. Meanwhile Clara drew Joan aside. “Congratulate me, dearest,” she whispered. “I’m going to marry Captain Leclerc.” IV. BUSINESS IS BUSINESS Stephen Ringsmith in his way is a public man, and such he likes to consider himself. He is an art dealer in a very big way, and he is also a pillar of one of the political parties. He could have a baronetcy for the asking, but he has no children and he prefers to be a power behind the throne rather than a lackey in front of it.