"Don't keep me here guessing riddles longer than you can help," he said, impatiently. "I have an appointment in the City at twelve, and I want to discuss with you the letter that must be written to Lady Henry."
"That's your affair," said the Duchess. "I haven't made up my mind yet whether I mean to write at all. And as for the riddle, Freddie, you've seen Miss Le Breton?"
"Once. I thought her a very pretentious person," said the Duke, stiffly.
"I know--you didn't get on. But, Freddie, didn't she remind you of somebody?"
The Duchess was growing excited. Suddenly she jumped up; the little spitz rolled off her lap; she ran to her husband and took him by the fronts of his coat.
"Freddie, you'll be very much astonished." And suddenly releasing him, she began to search among the photographs on the mantel-piece. "Freddie, you know who that is?" She held up a picture.
"Of course I know. What on earth has that got to do with the subject we have been discussing?"
"Well, it has a good deal to do with it," said the Duchess, slowly. "That's my uncle, George Chantrey, isn't it, Lord Lackington's second son, who married mamma's sister? Well--oh, you won't like it, Freddie, but you've got to know--that's--Julie's uncle, too!"
"What in the name of fortune do you mean?" said the Duke, staring at her.
His wife again caught him by the coat, and, so imprisoning him, she poured out her story very fast, very incoherently, and with a very evident uncertainty as to what its effect might be.