Duke.
She had expressed herself in the monosyllable. No words came to her lips, but to her eyes many tears, through which the pearls were visible. They whirled in her bewildered brain as a token that she was loved—loved by HIM, though but yesterday he had loved another. It was all so sudden, so beautiful. You might have knocked her down (she says so to this day) with a feather. Seeing her agitation, the Duke pointed to a chair, bade her be seated.
Her mind was cleared by the new posture. Suspicion crept into it, followed by alarm. She looked at the ear-rings, then up at the Duke.
"No," said he, misinterpreting the question in her eyes, "they are real pearls."
"It isn't that," she quavered, "it is—it is—"
"That they were given to me by Miss Dobson?"
"Oh, they were, were they? Then"—Katie rose, throwing the pearls on the floor—"I'll have nothing to do with them. I hate her."
"So do I," said the Duke, in a burst of confidence. "No, I don't," he added hastily. "Please forget that I said that."
It occurred to Katie that Miss Dobson would be ill-pleased that the pearls should pass to her. She picked them up.
"Only—only—" again her doubts beset her and she looked from the pearls to the Duke.
"Speak on," he said.
"Oh you aren't playing with me, ar
