"I believe his Lordship did remember my face," thought Julia as she wandered back to Woodbine Cottage.
But Sophy washed lettuces in her scullery—which, save for its base purposes, was a pleasant, airy apartment, looking out on a path that ran between yew hedges and led round from the lawn to the offices of the house. Diligently she washed, as Mrs. Smilker had taught her (whether rightly or not is nothing to the purpose here), but how many miles away was her mind? So far away from lettuces that it seemed in no way strange to look up and see Lord Dunstanbury and his dog on the path outside the window at which she had been performing her task. He began hastily:
"Oh, I say, I've been seeing my mare get her feed, and—er—do you think you could be so good as to find a bone and some water for Lorenzo?"
"Lorenzo?" she said.
"My dog, you know." He pointed to the handsome beast, which wagged an expectant tail.
"Why do you call him that?"
Dunstanbury smiled. "Because he's magnificent. I dare say you never heard of Lorenzo the Magnificent?"
"No. Who was he?"
"A Duke—Duke of Florence—in Italy." He had begun to watch her face, and seemed not impatient for the bone.
"Florence? Italy?" The lettuce dropped from her hands; she wiped her hands slowly on her apron.