"Of course, you know all about our pearls, the one ewe lamb of ancient glory left to us poor Claremanaghs," he said.
"I don't know all about them," amended Juliet, her heart missing a beat.
"Tell me just what you do know, and then I shan't bore you with repetitions."
"Oh, people have told me things," she hedged. "Didn't a Tsarina of Russia sell the pearls to some old ancestor of yours?"
"Good lord, no!" he chuckled. "Never was a Claremanagh so stony broke as yours truly; yet never was there one since the days of pterodactyls who could run to the price of a Tsarina's pearls; that is, in lucre. My great-great-grandfather bought them with kisses. But joking apart, it's rather a romantic tale. He was a soldier and offered his services to Russia because he'd seen a portrait of the Tsarina, which the Prince of Wales had, and fell in love with it. Well, she fell in love with him, too, at sight. He wasn't bad to look at, judging from his portrait——"
"Was he like you?" cut in Juliet.
Pat laughed. "They say so. When we can get those Pill people out of Castle Claremanagh (their lease has a year to run) you shall tell me if you find a likeness. There was an 'affair' between the two; and great-great-grandfather Pat (he was Patrick, too, like all the eldest sons) had it politely intimated to him, through his friend Wales, that he'd better come home—a marriage had been arranged for him. He'd not have stirred a foot if it hadn't been for his Love. She begged him to go. There was a plot to murder him, it seems, and as for her, she'd ceased to be very popular with the Tsar, her husband. She made her sweetheart promise to marry the English girl, and she gave him the rope of pearls which since then have been called after her—the 'Tsarina's pearls.' They were for his wife, as a gift from her, so the girl shouldn't hate the thought of their love."
"I should have hated it all the more!" cried Juliet. "I wouldn't have worn the things if I'd been his bride."
"Well, as my bride I hope you will wear them often. They'll be dashed becoming to your blondness, for the things are unique in one way: they're blue; a hundred and eighty immense and perfectly matched blue pearls. Never has anything been seen like them, the expert johnnies say."
"Was the Tsarina a blonde?" the girl wanted to know.