"Well," she excused herself, "I never saw the pearls, except—er—at a distance."
"You have seen them, then?" Juliet exclaimed. "How was that? Pat's mother died years before you knew him, and only the Duchess is supposed to wear the pearls, isn't she?"
"Only the Duchess is supposed to wear them."
Juliet sat up straight on the velvet cushion. Her hair was drying beautifully now. The red background of fireglow lit it to flame, so that Lady West saw the slight figure surrounded by a nimbus. "Ever since Pat and I were engaged, you've been hinting at something queer, or secret, about that rope of pearls, Emmy," the girl blazed. "Now, out with it, please! Tell me what you mean."
The elder woman was taken aback. "Don't you know what I mean?" she temporized.
"No, I don't," snapped Juliet. "But I'm sure it's something unpleasant."
"At least, I had no intention of telling you," Lady West snapped back. "I wouldn't distress you for worlds, dear, especially on your wedding eve."
"Wedding eve be—'jizzled!'" inelegantly remarked the bride-elect. "You sound quite early Edwardian! If you don't tell me, I shall think the thing worse than it is."
"You had better ask Claremanagh, or Jack Manners, who is a pal of his," said Emmy.
"I can't, till I have an idea what to ask them about."