The speaker was a recent acquaintance, sufficiently under the spell of Claudia’s dimples to believe her everything that was disinterested and simple. Her reply gave him a shock.
“A millionaire, is he? That covers a multitude of—teeth! I shan’t scream, after all. No; I don’t want to hide. I’ve a penchant for millionaires! I’ll sit here and look pretty! How long do you give him, Mr Bruce, before he asks for an introduction?”
Mr Bruce gave him ten minutes, but, as a matter of fact, it was only seven and a half by the clock before the Ogre was bowing before the Beauty’s sofa, and being smilingly welcomed to a seat by her side. He was portentously ugly! Claudia, regarding him with her long green eyes, thought she had never before beheld so unattractive a man. “Flabby dabby” was her not inappropriate mental definition, but the small grey eyes looking out of the vast mass of flesh were disconcertingly keen and alert. Claudia realised that her description did not apply to the man’s mind, however aptly it might fit his body.
As for John Biggs, no words could describe his admiration of this wonderful new specimen of womanhood. Never in all his life had he beheld anyone so fair, so exquisite, so ethereal. Her hair was like threads of gold. The exquisite fineness and beauty of her complexion was like that of a child. It seemed a miracle in the eyes of the big, rough man that a grown-up woman should preserve such delicacy of charm. Yet as they exchanged the first commonplaces of conversation there was something in the expression of those sunken eyes which was not wholly approving. They seemed to Claudia like small steel gimlets, piercing into her soul! As he bade her good-bye that evening, John Biggs announced coolly:
“I shall see you again on Thursday, as arranged!” and when Claudia exclaimed, he waved aside her protests with a sarcastic laugh.
“You have been at pains to tell me exactly what you are to be doing every day of this week! Didn’t you intend me to meet you?”
Claudia shrugged her shoulders, and took refuge in her usual honesty.
“Well—I did! But you might have pretended that I didn’t. It’s rather unkind to show that you see through my poor little machinations with such ease.”
“I never pretend,” said John Biggs. His eyes rested on the string of imitation pearls encircling the slender neck, and he spoke again, roughly, insolently: “Why do you deck yourself with sham beads?”
“Because I have nothing better, of course. What a stupid question to ask!”