This time the Duke showed no sign of surprise, therefore he was not surprised. He merely looked more disgusted than before, which made his lack of love for his wife and his wish to defend the Polish dancer more evident to Juliet's racked mind.
"When I gave you my word about not loving Mademoiselle Pavoya I gave it also about the pearls," Claremanagh said. "I told you then that she had never had them. I can only repeat the statement, since you seem to have forgotten."
"I have forgotten nothing!" cried Juliet. "It's a man's code of honour, I suppose, to defend a woman, no matter how. But if that's not so—if you don't care enough for Lyda Pavoya to lie for her to your wife, I'd like to know how you'll answer this question: Do you swear that you don't suspect her of somehow stealing the real pearls, and putting imitation ones in their place?"
Claremanagh's face changed. He had been frankly though coldly furious. Now he looked stricken. "I would lie for no one on earth, except for you, and then only to save your life," he said. "It's an insult from you to me to ask that I should swear such a thing.
"Very well, then, your simple word is enough," said Juliet. "Give it that you don't think Pavoya has the pearls."
Claremanagh was silent, his eyes upon her. And in that silence, short as it was, Juliet heard a tiny voice speak. It whispered: "The thing Pavoya had, which the other didn't have, was a copy. She had a copy of the pearls."
"I could not believe such a thing," the Duke answered. "I have known Mademoiselle Pavoya for years. She is a good woman."
Juliet laughed, and laughing flung the false pearls on the floor. "'A good woman!' You have original ideas! I've heard a lot of things about her from a lot of people, but never that before."
"Because only malicious speeches are amusing, they are the ones 'a lot of people'—the lot we know—mostly make."
"Pooh!" sneered Juliet. "I see the whole thing now—except how she got the real pearls. But this imitation rope she had. You can't face me, and say she hadn't."