It was all she could do not to purr out her complaints of "that _cat_, Emmy West," but native prudence prevailed over hot impulse. She enjoyed as much as Emmy permitted Pat's praise of her glorious hair (surely Pavoya's wasn't as long or thick, and probably its "rusty red" was due to dye), and then she reminded him of the parcel. "Is it my present from you?" she asked, almost shyly, nodding toward the table where Pat had thrown the neat white square. Instantly he let her go, and took the little parcel again in his hand. "Yes, sweet, it _is_ my present for you," he said. "But _not_ the present I wanted to give you. That's why I risked the 'curse' and came to explain." "Oh!" was the girl's noncommittal answer. Her heart sank. The pearls were not in the packet, she knew now, but her disappointment was not so much in missing them as in the thought that Emmy could say "I told you so!" "Before you open these silly seals, and see what I've brought," the Duke went on, "I want to make my explanation, and be sure you understand the whole business. Come and sit by me on the sofa, will you?" He drew her down beside him, and gathered her close. "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.