deck yourself with sham beads?”

“Because I have nothing better, of course. What a stupid question to ask!”

“You ought to wear emeralds,” he said. “They are the stones for you, with your complexion and eyes. You ought to wear emeralds. Ropes of emeralds.”

“I intend to!” answered Claudia calmly.

Their eyes met, and they stared at one another; a cold and challenging stare.

During the next fortnight Society watched with interest the progress of the affair between “Beauty and the Beast,” and speculation was rife as to its outcome. Would he propose; and, if so, would she—could she accept? It seemed impossible to her friends that even Claudia, the mercenary, could sell herself to this ogre-like man. But Claudia herself had no hesitation.

On the fifteenth day after their introduction, the couple sat together under a tree at one of the outdoor functions of the year, and John Biggs asked a sudden question:

“What did you think of me,” he asked, “when you first saw me that evening at the Rollos’?”

Claudia smiled at him with the sweetness of an angel.

“I thought,” she said, “you were the ugliest man I had ever seen!”

“And yet,” he said sneering, “you made eyes at me across the room. You willed me to come and be introduced!”

“Yes, I did. But that,” said Claudia serenely, “was because you were rich.”

The gimlet-like eyes stared long and straight at the lovely face, beneath the rose-crowned hat.

“I think,” John Biggs said deliberately, “you are the most soulless human creature on earth! That lovely body of yours is a shell—a beautiful shell with nothing inside. You have no soul!”

“I don’t want one, thank you. They’re such a bother. Why are you so cross with me all of a sudden?” cried Claudia, making a delightful little moue of childlike injury and distress. “I’ve been so nice to you all this time, and it’s mean to ask questions, and then get cross when I tell you the truth.”

“You are false!” he replied coldly. “Your honesty is a blind to hide the falseness beneath. There is nothing true, nor straight, nor honest about you.” And then bending nearer, so that his huge brown face almost touched her own, he hissed a question into her ear: “Claudia—will you marry me?”

Claudia gave a trill of birdlike laughter.

“Yes, please!” she cried gaily. “But what a funny proposal! You don’t ‘lead up’ a bit well. They are generally so flattering and nice, and you were horrible. Why do you want to marry me, if you disapprove of me so much?”

“Why do you want to marry me?” he asked in return. There was no lover-like ardour in his voice; the sunken eyes gleamed with a mocking light; every tooth in his head seemed to show as he bent over her. “Is it because you love me, Claudia?”

“N-ot exactly,” said Claudia, with a gulp. His nearness gave her a momentary feeling of suffocation, but she braced herself to bear it without shrinking. “N-ot exactly; but I love the things you can give me! It’s a fair exchange, isn’t it? You want a hostess; I want a home. You don’t pretend to love me, either!”

Then suddenly his eyes blazed upon her.

“Not you, perhaps, but your beauty! I worship your beauty,” he cried. “Your beauty has driven me mad! Make no mistake, my girl, you don’t deceive me—you are not worth loving, not even worth buying, though you are so ready to sell your dainty pink and white self, but I am going to buy you all the same. I’ve worked hard for my money, and I can afford to indulge myself in worthless trifles if it suits my fancy. It is, as you say, a fair exchange. You want my money, I want your beauty. I have worked among grim sights; now, for a change, I shall look upon—You!” He stretched out his great hand, and laid it beside hers. “Hide and satin! Who would believe that we belonged to the same species! You’re a dainty morsel, my dear. We shall make a pretty pair.”

Claudia looked at him, and felt a shrinking of heart.

“You’ll be good to me?” she asked him. “You’ll promise not to quarrel, or be stingy? You won’t make me marry you, and then put me on an allowance, or fuss about bills? You’ll promise faithfully!”

“You shall have as much money as you can spend. You’re an object de luxe, my dear, and shall be shielded carefully in your glass case. I’m not a fool to buy a curio, and not look after its preservation. Take care of your beauty! Deck it up! It’s mine! I’ve bought it—see that I get my price!”

He lifted his hand and stroked the exquisite cheek. Seen close at hand, the fineness and smoothness of the skin was even more wonderful than from afar. He gripped the chin between finger and thumb, and turned her face to his, staring greedily at each curve and line. In appearance, as in manner, Claudia went in for honesty. There was no artificiality about her beauty, not even a brush of powder upon the skin. The man who had just settled his terms regarded his purchase with kindling eyes.

“I’ll buy you your emeralds, my beauty, the finest emeralds I can find,” he cried. “Everyone shall talk of you; everyone shall envy you. The Queen of Beauty, Mrs John Biggs!”

Claudia Biggs had been married for two years, and had flourished like the proverbial bay-tree. Her wedding had been one of the smartest functions of the season, her honeymoon had been spent in a lordly castle “lent for the occasion” by its titled owner. As Mrs John Biggs, she had made her presentation curtsey to her sovereign in a gown whose magnificence was the talk of the town; every house that was worth visiting threw open its doors to the millionaire and his wife, and Society flocked to the entertainments given by them in their turn. There had been those who had prophesied disaster from the marriage, who had felt convinced that Claudia would not be able to endure so close a companionship with her Ogre, but as time passed on they were obliged to confess their mistake, for Claudia bloomed into an amazing, an almost incredible, beauty. She had always been lovely, but the loveliness of Claudia the maid was as nothing compared with that of Claudia the wife. What had been, as it were, a flower of the wayside, had become the most rare and costly of exotics, tended with every extravagance of care. The most exquisite garments, the most costly gems, were showered upon her by a husband who took no account of money spent on the adornment of the beauty for which he had paid so high a price; but if he were generous in the fulfilment of his promise, he insisted that Claudia should do her own share. She must be sparing in food and drink, she must take regular exercise; she must keep early hours, and retire to the country for specified periods of rest. John commanded, and, after one memorable attempt at rebellion, Claudia had silently obeyed. She never voluntarily recalled that occasion, but from time to time it visited her in dreams, and then she awoke screaming, as from a nightmare.

At the end of two years, the girl friend who had lectured Claudia on the night of her confession that she wanted money came to pay a visit to the Mayfair mansion, afire with eagerness to see with her own eyes this strangely matched pair. Claudia was lazy about correspondence, and on the rare occasions when she did exert herself to write, her letters were stiff and artificial. She was aware of her own lack of epistolary skill, and was in the habit of referring her friends to the Society papers for news of her doings. “They’ll tell you all about my dresses,” she would say serenely, and following her advice her friends read accounts of wonderful brocades embroidered with real jewels, of trains composed of cloth of gold, and cobweb creations of lace, whose value ran high in four figures, and they laughed to themselves as they read, recalling the old days and the rich cousin’s “cast-offs.”

Certainly Claudia could