"What?" queried Leah, sharply, adding more grammatically, "Who?"
"His Grace the Duke, my lady. He is in the study."
"Mr. Lionel Kaimes?"
"As was, my lady. His Grace came down last night."
"Augh! Why wasn't there an accident on the line?" muttered she, who longed to announce herself as a genuine duchess and could not.
"I beg pardon, my lady!"
"Oh--er--I'll go to my room, Colley. Tell his Grace I shall see him in an hour."
When she had changed her dress for one heavier with crape, as a sign of additional grief, and had lain for a miserable forty minutes without closing an eye, and had swallowed a much-needed dose of sal volatile, and had relieved her feelings by scolding an unoffending maid, she went before the footlights to play her most difficult and unpalatable part. The former nobody, seated at his predecessor's desk, rose, looking pale and careworn.
"A terrible thing," said the new Duke, giving his hand gravely.
"Awful. I can scarcely believe it. Is it really true?" and she had a passing hope that it might not be, seeing she could not benefit.