The Duchess of Wrexe
When, as was now the case, some chance meeting had assisted his theories his neat little body shone like a celluloid ball. If, having made his discovery, he might also have his audience to whom he might declare it, then his very fingers quivered with the excitement of it. His hands, white and thin and tapering, waved now. His eyes were on fire. As they walked up Bond Street one might have imagined air-bladders at his armpits, Mercury's wings at his heels. The quiet evening air was charged with him.
"Well," said Arkwright, smiling and looking down at his companion. "Who are they all?"
"Lady Adela Beaminster, Rachel Beaminster, Christopher----"
"Dr. Christopher, the Harley Street man. He's the Duchess