This was rather an impudent question to ask, especially for one who knew the Duke's circumstances; but, for a wonder, Juliet did not seem to mind. She answered quite easily, "Oh, I suppose so. Don't the Claremanagh men always give them to their brides?" "I believe they have dutifully handed them over _so far_--for several generations, since the pearls came into their family in that exciting way," said Lady West. "But you know, Peter--I mean Claremanagh--is very independent, and quite--er--a law unto himself." "Why do you call him 'Peter'?" the girl branched off from the subject. "He has about a dozen names, I know, but I hadn't heard that 'Peter' was one. My selection from the lot is Pat!" "Oh, 'Peter' was only a silly nickname I made up for him. 'Peter Pan', because he just isn't the sort who ever grows up!" Emmy explained elaborately. "Of course he was a lot with Algy and me the first year I married--before the war spoilt everything for everyone. And then, when I took up Red Cross work in France, after poor Algy---" "I know," Juliet ruthlessly interrupted. "That was where and when _I_ came on the scene." "It was," agreed Emmy, in a flat voice. "You came, you saw, you conquered. But we were talking of the Tsarina pearls. I do hope the Duke _is_ 'delivering the goods', as we say in our country. I don't mind confessing to you, my angel child, I dropped in hoping for a private view." "Oh, I guessed _that_ the minute Simone told me you were here, and determined to wait!" Juliet laughed like a naughty child who dares a "grown-up" to slap it. Emmy's ears tingled. The girl's tone, though intimate and friendly, told her how unimportant she was in the future Duchess's scheme of things. She had always envied Juliet, and had an old grudge against the heiress for refusing her brother, Bill Lowndes. Now she suddenly hated her. Instead of inflicting a kittenish scratch or two, she wanted to strike at Juliet Phayre's heart. "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_."