"A gentleman wishes to see your Grace. He has been waiting more than an hour."
The Duchess shivered. She drew her cloak closer round her. Possibly she felt the air a trifle cold. "Has the Duke returned?"
"Not yet, your Grace."
"Show the gentleman into my sitting-room."
She did not ask the visitor's name. But when she was alone in her own apartment she veiled her face with her hands again. Only for a moment. When the door opened all traces of agitation had disappeared. There entered a young and comely man who, although he was dressed in rough-and-ready morning costume, looked as though he were a man of breeding. At sight of him the Duchess started. It almost seemed as if he were not at all the sort of person she had expected to see. She waited for the visitor to speak. This the visitor appeared to experience some little difficulty in doing.
"I must crave your Grace's forgiveness for my intrusion at this unseasonable hour, but circumstances of a peculiar nature"
He paused. In his turn he started. His eyes were fixed upon the Duchess's head—upon the glory of her hair. He gave an exclamation of surprise.
"It's changed! Fungst was right!"
"Sir!"
The Duchess drew back. She appeared to find the stranger's demeanour slightly singular—as well she might. He continued staring at her as though he could not take his eyes away. He was, all at once, possessed with a strange excitement.
