Juliet glanced at her wrist-watch and a French clock on the mantel. It was true, she _was_ late! She had a new gown which there had been no time to try, and dinner was at eight. The girl's nerves, tensely strained all day, began to get out of control. She was "jumpy" and cross as Simone unfastened the many little hidden hooks and tiny lace buttonholes of the "dawn-cloud" dress. Simone's hands were cold as ice, she complained. She hoped Simone wasn't "sickening for something!" Then, it seemed that the quaint grey hat had spoiled her hair, which usually remained in perfect order throughout the day. It had to be let down; and being immensely long and thick, would take twenty minutes to rearrange. Never, never had Simone been so awkward! Her fingers were all thumbs! For a few moments, in her need of haste and her nervous agitation, Juliet forgot the crying question of the pearls. But a knock at the door which separated Pat's room from hers set every pulse a-throb. _He had come, of his own accord_! The blood rushed to her cheeks, and as she turned to the opening door, she looked gloriously beautiful. Her eyes met Claremanagh's with the desperate appeal of a loving, tortured soul, and he was disarmed. "Could you let Simone go for a few minutes?" he asked. "I should like to speak to you alone." A few seconds ago Juliet had been fuming because every instant counted. But suddenly time ceased to be of importance. She didn't care how late she might be for Nancy's dinner. She didn't care if she were too late to go at all! Simone, who knew that things were not as they should be, expected her mistress coldly to refuse the Duke. She was intensely surprised to be sent away and told not to return for fifteen minutes. Sensitively jealous, the maid resented being sent out of the room for _ce traitre_, as she mentally called Claremanagh. What a different scene there would be between husband and wife if she had betrayed to the Duchess the secret of the afternoon! To do so would satisfy her love of drama, and her pique against the Duke; but Simone knew too well "which side her bread was buttered." For one thing, the Duchess would not hear such a tale from a servant, even her trusted maid. The Duke might be sent "packing" by the heiress, but so would Simone! And for another thing, there must be no possible suspicion when the "Whisperer" of the _Inner Circle_ whispered next, as to where the whisper had started. It would not do for Simone to know that Lyda Pavoya had called on the Duke of Claremanagh in his American wife's absence. The instant the Frenchwoman was out of the room, Pat came close to Juliet. He was dressed for dinner, all but coat and waistcoat, and Juliet adored him thus, in his glittering white expanse of evening shirt. She had often told him so.