Lucetta went in search of her mistress, and found her in the garden, musing over many things, for by this time Julia really loved Proteus, although she would not acknowledge it even to herself. When Lucetta handed her the letter, saying she thought it had been sent by Proteus, Julia pretended to be angry, and scolded her maid for daring to receive it.
“There, take the paper again,” she said, “and see that it is returned, or never again come into my presence.”
“To plead for love deserves a better reward than to be scolded,” muttered Lucetta.
From being so much with her young mistress, the maid was treated more as a companion than as a servant, and was accustomed to speak out her mind frankly on every occasion.
“Go!” said Julia severely; but no sooner had Lucetta disappeared than she was seized with remorse.
“How churlishly I sent her away, when all the time I wanted her here!” she thought. “How angrily I tried to frown, when really my heart was smiling with secret joy! To punish myself I must call Lucetta back, and ask her pardon for my folly.... What ho, Lucetta!”
“What does you ladyship want?” asked Lucetta, reappearing.
But at the sight of her maid Julia suddenly became shy again.
“Is it near dinner-time?” she asked, with an air of pretended indifference.
“I would it were, madam, so that you might spend your anger on your meat, and not on your maid,” replied Lucetta rather flippantly; and at that moment she let the letter fall, and picked it up ostentatiously.