Lemby, lounging in a deep chair with a pipe between his teeth and a glass of whisky at his elbow, stared at her with half-closed eyes. He privately decided that she was much too handsome to be allowed to throw herself away in a hurry. Claudia had a fine figure, hair like sunshine, and laughing azure eyes, together with a perfect complexion, very red lips, and the whitest of teeth. She was tall and largely made, most imposing in her looks, and carried herself so haughtily that the stately Roman name suited her exactly. If Lemby was not a gentleman, his daughter was emphatically a lady, for race showed itself plainly in her slender hands and feet, as in her finely-cut features. From her father she inherited her large frame and shapely body, while her ripe beauty came from her mother. The buccaneer had captured a gentlewoman, who was lured into marriage by his dare-devil looks. But for many years he had been a widower. "It was a mighty pity Wyke died," said Lemby, regretfully, and ignoring his daughter's defiance. "He had a title, five thousand a year, and a fine house in Devonshire, besides a position in society. I reckon you'd have fitted the position first-class, Claudia. Blamed bad luck, I call it, his pegging out under the knife." "Well, dad, he's dead, so there's no more to be said," said the girl, impatiently. "There's a heap more to be said, my dear. No one gets the title, I guess, as the old man had no relatives. But the cash, Claudia?" "I saw in some society paper that it goes to the Crown," said Claudia, carelessly, for she was young enough to care little for money, never having felt the need of it. "I ain't so sure of that," muttered her father, slowly drinking the whisky to inspire him; "the old man was so much in love with you that he told me he intended to leave you the dibs." "If I married him, I suppose--not otherwise." "That ain't certain, my girl. You were willing to marry him, so----" "I wasn't!" she flashed out, sharply. "You forced me." "Why shouldn't I force you? You are my daughter, ain't you?" "Yes; but I'm not your slave. I didn't want to be Lady Wyke." "No. You wish to be Mrs. Edwin Craver, and I'll jolly well see as you don't. Seems to me, Claudia, that it would be only fair for him to leave you his pile." "Didn't he give you an explanation when you called?" "No. I told you before that he didn't. Said as he'd come back to the drawing-room to clear things up, and naturally didn't when he pegged out in the study below. Anyhow, it's on the cards as he might have made a will in your favour. And," added the buccaneer, emphatically, "I'm dashed well determined to see the sharp as handles his business." "Mr. Sandal, in Lincoln's Inn Fields?"