ce; 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 now claim to be one of the most gorgeously
dressed women in society, but--was she happy? Meriel, who was of a
romantic and sensitive temperament, recalled the appearance of John
Biggs as he had appeared at the wedding ceremony: the gross bulk of the
man, the projecting teeth, the small eyes glowing like points of light,
the large coarse face; remembering, she shuddered at the remembrance,
and for the hundredth time repeated the question--was it possible that
Claudia could know happiness with such a mate?

Meriel arrived at the Mayfair mansion late one March afternoon, and was
escorted up a magnificent staircase into an equally magnificent
drawing-room on the first floor. Everything on which the eyes rested
was costly and beautiful, but, looking around with dazzled eyes, Meriel
realised that this was but a show-room, an enlarged curio case, in which
were exhibited isolated objects of value. There was no harmony about
the whole, no skilful blending of effect; the loving touch which turns a
house into a home was