nd when he smiled he displayed
two even rows of very white teeth. He was popular with men, being
manly, frank and cordial in his relations with them, and women
admired him greatly, although they were somewhat intimidated by
his grave and serious manner. The truth was that he was rather
diffident with women, largely owing to lack of experience with
them.

He had never felt the slightest inclination for business. He had
the artistic temperament strongly developed, and his personal
tastes had little in common with Wall Street and its feverish
stock manipulating. When he was younger, he had dreamed of a
literary or art career. At one time he had even thought of going
on the stage. But it was to art that he turned finally. From an
early age he had shown considerable skill as a draughtsman, and
later a two years' course at the Academy of Design convinced him
that this was his true vocation. He had begun by illustrating for
the book publishers and for the magazines, meeting at first with
the usual rebuffs and disappointments, but, refusing to be
discouraged, he had kept on and soon the tide turned. His drawings
began to be accepted. They appeared first in one magazine, then in
another, until one day, to his great joy, he received an order
from an important firm of publishers for six wash-drawings to be
used in illustrating a famous novel. This was the beginning of his
real success. His illustrations were talked about almost as much
as the book, and from that time on everything was easy. He was in
great demand by the publishers, and very soon the young artist,
who had begun his career of independence on nothing a year so to
speak, found himself in a handsomely appointed studio in Bryant
Park, with more orders coming in than he could possibly fill, and
enjoying an income of little less than $5,000 a year. The money
was all the sweeter to Jefferson in that he felt he had himself
earned every cent of it. This summer he was giving himself a
well-deserved vacation, and he had come to Europe partly to see
Paris and the other art centres about which his fellow students at
the Academy raved, but principally--although this he did not
acknowledge even to himself--to meet in Paris a young woman in
whom he was more than ordinarily interested--Shirley Rossmore,
daughter of Judge Rossmore, of the United States Supreme Court,
who had come abroad to recuperate after the labours on her new
novel, "The American Octopus," a book which was then