ch 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.

And indeed the effect was by no means easy to determine. The Duke was
first incredulous, then bewildered by the very mixed facts which she
poured out upon him. He tried to cross-examine her _en route_, but he
gained little by that; she only shook him a little, insisting the more
vehemently on telling the story her own way. At last their two
impatiences had nearly come to a dead-lock. But the Duke managed to free
himself physically, and so regained a little freedom of mind.

"Well, upon my word," he said, as he resumed his march up and
down--"upon my word!" Then, as he stood still before her, "You say she
is Marriott Dalrymple's daughter?"

"And Lord Lackington's granddaughter." said the Duchess, panting a
little from her exertions. "And, oh, what a blind bat you were not to
see it at once--from the likeness!"

"As if one had any right to infer such a thing from a likeness!" said
the Duke, angrily. "Really, Evelyn, your talk is most--most unbecoming.
It seems to me that Mademoiselle Le Breton has already done you harm.
All that you have told me, supposing it to be true--oh, of course, I
know you believe it to be true--only makes me"--he stiffened his
back--"the more determined to break off the connection between her and
you. A woman of such antecedents is not a fit companion for my wife,
independently of the fact that she seems to be, in herself, an
intriguing and dangerous character."

"How could she help her antecedents?" cried the Duchess.

"I didn't say she could help them. But if they are what you say, she
ought--well, she ought to be all the more careful to live in a modest
and retired way, instead of, as I understand, making hersel