“Yes, Signorina.”
“Well, you can go; I know you have some ironing to do to-day.”
Giulietta went away quite comforted. If the Signora had time and inclination to take such minute interest in the house, it was a sign that she had made up her mind to bear her trouble. And if men were such wretches, what was the good of taking it to heart? The master used to be good, but he had quite changed of late. Giulietta, standing before a table heaped up with rough-dried linen, sprinkled it with the water she took up out of a basin in the hollow of her hand. Caterina passing slowly by her, stopped for a moment.
“Be careful of the shirts, Giulietta; last week there were two scorched.”
“That was because I overheated the irons; I will be careful to-day.”
Caterina entered the kitchen. Monzu, who was carrying on an animated conversation with the man-servant, became suddenly silent. She cast a cool glance of inspection round her, the look of the mistress, severe and just.
“Monzu, tell your kitchen-boy to scour the corners well. It is no good cleaning just in the middle of the floor.”
“I have told that boy about it so often, but Signora mia, he’s good for nothing. I’ll give him a scolding when he comes to-day.”
“Are your accounts made up, Monzu?”
“We were to settle on Monday, the day after to-morrow.”