"There! That necklace was given to me by one of my friends!" She paused.
"Yes?" I said tentatively.
"He is dead now. You have heard—everyone knows—that I was once engaged to Lord Clarenceux. He was a friend. He loved me—he died—my friends have a habit of dying. Alresca died."
The conversation halted. I wondered whether I might speak of Lord Clarenceux, or whether to do so would be an indiscretion. She began to collect the pearls.
"Yes," she repeated softly, "he was a friend."
I drew a strange satisfaction from the fact that, though she had said frankly that he loved her, she had not even hinted that she loved him.
"Lord Clarenceux must have been a great man," I said.
"That is exactly what he was," she answered with a vague enthusiasm. "And a great nobleman too! So different from the others. I wish I could describe him to you, but I cannot. He was immensely rich—he looked on me as a pauper. He had the finest houses, the finest judgment in the world. When he wanted anything he got it, no matter what the cost. All dealers knew that, and any one who had 'the best' to sell knew that in Lord Clarenceux he would find a purchaser. He carried things with a high hand. I never knew another man so determined, or one who could be more stern or more exquisitely kind. He knew every sort of society, and yet he had never married. He fell in love with me, and offered me his hand. I declined—I was afraid of him. He said he would shoot himself. And he would have done it; so I accepted. I should have ended by loving him. For he wished me to love him, and he always had his way. He was a man, and he held the same view of my world that I myself hold. Mr. Foster, you must think I'm in a very chattering mood."
I protested with a gesture.
"Lord Clarenceux died. And I am alone. I was terribly lonely after his death. I missed his jealousy."