There was a sudden knock at the door.
"Come in," cried Gwendolen in surprise. Unless it was the cow, it was an entirely unexpected visitor.
A tall and handsome young man entered, striking his head violently against a beam as he stepped into the low-ceilinged kitchen.
"Good morning," he said, repressing the remark which came more readily to his lips. "Pray forgive this intrusion. The fact is I have lost my way, and I wondered whether you would be kind enough to inform me as to my whereabouts."
Gwendolen curtsied.
"This is Primrose Farm, Sir," she said.
"I fear," he replied with a smile, "it has been my misfortune never to have heard so charming a name before. I am Lord Beltravers of Beltravers Castle, Beltravers. Having returned last night from India I came out for an early stroll this morning, and I fear that I have wandered out of my direction."
"Why," cried Gwendolen, "your lordship is miles from Beltravers Castle. How tired and hungry you must be." She removed a lettuce from the kitchen-chair, dusted it, and offered it to him. (That is to say, the chair.) "Let me get you some milk," she added. Picking up a pail she went out to inspect the cow.
"Gad," said Lord Beltravers, as soon as he was alone. He paced rapidly up and down the tiled kitchen. "Deuce take it," he added recklessly, "she's a lovely girl." The Beltraverses were noted in two continents for their hard swearing.
"Here you are, Sir," said Gwendolen, returning with the precious liquid.