Quarles nodded, as if such a tragedy would have been the most natural thing possible.
"His mother made it worse," the contessa went on, "so we have one fierce quarrel and I speak my mind. I say a great deal when I speak my mind, and I am not nice then. I went away with my little girl. It was very unfortunate, but what could I do? I love dancing, so I go on the stage, and—and I have lost my pearls. See, there is the case, but it is empty."
Quarles looked at it, but I was sure he was not thinking of what he was doing, and he did not even ask the most obvious questions.
I did that, and received scant answers. She was not a bit interested in me.
"My pearls," she went on, "I want my pearls. There are some women pearls love. I am one. When I wear them a little while they are alive. The colors in them glow and palpitate. They are never dull then. I do not wear them always, only on certain days—on feasts, and when I am very happy."
"We must find them," said Quarles.
"Of course. That is why I come to know you, isn't it?"
The professor was full of her as we left the hotel.
"A most charming woman," he said.
"I doubt if you will find her so when you fail to restore her pearls."