Old Jolyon thought: “How pretty she is!” She did not speak, neither did he; and he realized why with a certain admiration. She was here no doubt because of some memory, and did not mean to try and get out of it by vulgar explanation.

“Don’t let that dog touch your frock,” he said; “he’s got wet feet. Come here, you!”

But the dog Balthasar went on towards the visitor, who put her hand down and stroked his head. Old Jolyon said quickly:

“I saw you at the opera the other night; you didn’t notice me.”

“Oh, yes! I did.”

He felt a subtle flattery in that, as though she had added: “Do you think one could miss seeing you?”

“They’re all in Spain,” he remarked abruptly. “I’m alone; I drove up for the opera. The Ravogli’s good. Have you seen the cow-houses?”