Marion knew who it was in a moment, and hastened out of the room. Her aunt thought she had, as in the careless old times, gone to open the door for him; but she had fled up to her own room and locked the door, and thrown herself on her knees beside her bed and burst into tears.
In the meantime Anne had opened the door, and when she saw who it was, quiet Anne, who rarely spoke beyond her business, exclaimed:
"Oh Mr. Cheyne, they will be glad to see you!"
"Have the goodness," said he soberly, "to tell Miss Traynor that the Duke of Shropshire would be glad of the honour of a few words with her."
"Yes, my lord," said Anne, curtsying profoundly, blushing deeply, and then running off with a great want of dignity into the sitting room. She left his grace standing in the sunken porch with as little ceremony as if he had been the man for the gas account.
"If you please, my lord, will you walk into the room?" said Anne from the back of the hall, not daring to go near a man who had been so awfully changed in a few days from a plain Mr. to one of the greatest lords, as her mistress had informed her.
As the visitor came up to where she stood, he said:
"Anne, your grace."
"I beg your pardon," faltered timid Anne, "I do not know what you mean."
"That in future you are to call me 'your grace,' and not 'Mr. Charlie,' or 'Mr. Cheyne,' or 'my lord.'"