She clenched her hands, and one of the threads of the necklace gave way, and the pearls scattered themselves over her lap.

“There! That necklace was given to me by one of my friends!” She paused.

“Yes?” I said tentatively.

“He is dead now. You have heard — everyone knows — that I was once engaged to Lord Clarenceux. He was a friend. He loved me — he died — my friends have a habit of dying. Alresca died.”

The conversation halted. I wondered whether I might speak of Lord Clarenceux, or whether to do so would be an indiscretion. She began to collect the pearls.

“Yes,” she repeated softly, “he was a friend.”