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 missing here. The perfect specimens stood stiffly in their places, there was no sign of occupation, not so much as a book lying upon a chair. The first impression was undoubtedly disappointing, but presently the door opened, and Claudia herself appeared on the threshold, and ran forward, impulsive, loving, and unaffected as in the days of her obscurity. "Meriel! Oh, Meriel! It _is_ ripping to see you again, you dear, nice old thing! I'm ever so pleased you could come. I don't often have visitors. I'm bored with visitors, but I wanted you. And you look just the same; not a bit older. I always did say you had the sweetest eyes in the world--_and_ the ugliest hats! Meriel darling, I shall take you at once to my milliner's." "No good, my dear, I've no money to spend. Besides, what's the use of worrying about clothes while I'm with you? I'm bound to look the veriest frump in comparison, so why worry any more? We are not all the wives of millionaires."