"They were given to me by a Hungarian count," she said in her pretty broken English; "just two pearls. I had them made into earrings. It was the best way I could wear them. They are perfect, and they have a history. They were a thank-offering to some idol in Burmah, but were afterwards sold or stolen--I do not know which. It does not matter; it was a very long time ago; but what does matter is that they bring good luck. I shall be nothing without them, do you see?" "That I will not believe! You will always be--" "Beautiful," she said before Quarles could complete the sentence. "Ah, yes, I know that. I have been told that when I cease to be beautiful I shall cease to live. A gipsy in Budapest told me so. But what is beauty if you have no luck?" "When were they given to you?" Quarles asked. "A year after I married. Listen, I will tell you a secret. It was the beginning of the little difference with my husband. He was jealous." "It was natural." "No, it was not," she answered. "My Hungarian friend, he loved me of course. That is the natural part. I was born like that. Some women are. It is not their fault. It just is so, and yet people think evil and say, shocking! It is in their own mind--the evil--and nowhere else, and I say 'basta,' and go my way, caring not at all. Why, every night in my dressing room at the Regency there is a pile of letters--like that, and flowers. The room is full of them--all from people who love me--and I do not know one of them. I like it, but it makes no difference to me. I told my husband that it was nothing, but no, he went on being jealous. He was very foolish, but I think some day he will grow sensible. Then I shall very likely say it is too late. The world has said it loves me, and that is better than one Castalani. You do not know the Castalanis?" "No." "Ah, they are what you call thoughtful for themselves, very high, and very few people are quite as good, so we had little quarrels, and then a big one, because he said he would throw my pearls into the Arno. I hid them, and he could not find them. If he had found them and thrown them away I would have killed him." 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.