ievously leant forward, her hands crossed under her chin,
her arms so near Cairns' face that he could see on them the fine black
shading of the down.

'Well, Tom?' she asked. 'Quite happy?'

'No,' growled Cairns, 'you know what I want.'

'Patience and shuffle the cards,' said Victoria, 'and be thankful I'm
here at all. But I musn't rot you Tommy dear, after a present like
that.'

She slipped her fingers under the diamond cross. Cairns watched the
picture made by the rosy manicured finger nails, the sparkling stones,
the white skin.

'A pity it doesn't match my rings,' she remarked.

Cairns looked at her hand.

'Oh, no more it does. I thought you had a half hoop. Never mind, dear.
Give me that sapphire ring.'

'What do you want it for?' asked Victoria with a conscious smile.

'That's my business.'

She slipped it off. He took it, pressing her fingers.

'I think you ought to have a half hoop,' he said conclusively.

Victoria leant back in her chair. Her smile was triumphant. Truly, men
are hard masters but docile slaves.

'You'll spoil me, Tom,' she said weakly. 'I don't want you to think that
I'm fishing for things. I'm quite happy, you know. I'd rather you didn't
give me another ring.'

'Nonsense,' said Cairns, 'I wouldn't give it you if I didn't like to see
it on your hand.'

'I don't believe you,' she said smoothly, but the phrase rang true.

Some minutes later, as they passed down the stairs into the palm room,
she was conscious of the eyes that followed her. Those of the men were
mostly a little dilated; the women seemed more cynically interested, as
suits those who appraise not bodies but garments. Major Cairns, walking
a step behind her, was still looking well, with his close cut hair and
moustache, stiff white linen and erect bearing. Victoria realised
herself as a queen in a worthy kingdom. But the kingdom was not the one
she wished to hold with all the force of her beauty. That beauty was
transitory, or at least its subtler quality was. As Victoria lay in the
brougham with Cairns's arm holding her close to him, she still
remembered that the fading of her beauty might synchronise with the
growth of her wealth. A memory from some book on political economy
flashed through her mind: beauty was a wasting asset.

Cairns kissed her on the lips. An atmosphere of champagne, coffee,
tobacco, enveloped her as her breath mixed with his. She coiled one arm
round his neck and returned his kisses.

'Vi