“By God, sir!” he said.  “You have detected us.  How long have you known it?”

“From the moment Your Grace took off your hat,” I said.

He laughed again, highly and merrily.

“Well; no harm is done,” he said.  “We took other names to make matters easier for all.  You have told Mr. Jermyn?”

“No, sir,” I said.

“I beg of you not to do so,” he said.  “It will spoil all.  Nor Mistress Dorothy.  It is far easier to do without ceremony now and again.”

I bowed again; but I said nothing.

“Then you may as well know,” said the Duke, “that Mr. Atkins is none other than my Lord of Essex.  We have been at Newmarket together.”

I bowed to my lord, and he to me.

“Well—­the horses,” said Monmouth.  “At eight o’clock, if you please.”

I said nothing to Tom, for I was very uncertain what to do; and though I was mad with anger at what I had heard the Duke say as I waited at the door—­(though now I cannot say that there was any great harm in the words themselves)—­I still kept my wits enough to know that I was too angry to judge fairly.  I lay awake a long time that night, turning from side to side after that I had heard the wet clothes of our guests carried downstairs to be dried by morning before the fire.  It was all a mighty innocent matter, so far as it had gone; but I would not see that.  I told myself that a man of the Duke’s quality should not come to a little country-house under an alias, even if he had been bogged ten times over; that he should not make pretty speeches to a country maid and kiss her fingers, and hold open the door for her, even though all these things or some of them were just what I had done myself.  Frankly, I understand now that no harm was meant; that every word the Duke had said was true, and that it was but natural for him to try to please all across whom he came; but I would not see it at the time.

On the next morning when I came downstairs early it seemed to me that my Cousin Dorothy was herself downstairs too early for mere good manners.  The guests were not yet stirring; yet the maids were up, and the ale set out in the dining-room, and the smell of hot oat-cake came from the kitchen.  There were flowers also upon the table; and my cousin was in a pretty brown dress of hers that she did not wear very often.

I looked upon her rather harshly; and I think she observed it; for she said nothing to me as she went about her business.

I went out into the stable-yard to see the horses; and found my Cousin Tom there already, admiring them; and indeed they were fine, especially a great dappled grey that was stamping under the brush of the fellow who had first knocked at our door last night.

“That is Mr. Morton’s horse, I suppose?” said Tom.

The man who was grooming him did not speak; and Tom repeated his question.

“Yes, sir,” said the man, with a queer look which I understood, though Tom did not, “this is Mr. Morton’s.”