"I am Elisabeth Claypole, madam," returned the Protector's daughter mildly.
The lady swept a courtly curtsey.
"There is no need," she replied, "for me to disguise my quality from one so generous and good. I am, madam, the wife of the unfortunate Marquess of Newcastle."
This name, which a few years ago had been one of the greatest in the land, and still echoed in the minds of men, had an effect on John Thurloe and even on Elisabeth herself. The new order had not endured long enough for people to have eradicated the instinct of respect for noble blood and ancient names; for a moment the Marchioness, in her poor attire, abashed the two commoners, so strong still were tradition and the old teaching.
Then Elisabeth Claypole spoke.
"Will you come with me, madam, and take a little poor hospitality?"
Thurloe, glad to be relieved of the responsibility of the distinguished petitioner, put in his word.
"I will give Your Grace's name to His Highness presently, but I do fear it is useless."
"Come with me, madam," repeated the Lady Elisabeth, and she gently took the Marchioness by the hand and led her to her apartment.
Lady Newcastle came meekly; for all her air of pride she was downcast and bewildered with misfortune.