My Lady's Money

'He is either a person of very limited intelligence when he is away from his stables,' she thought, 'or he deliberately declines to take a plain hint when it is given to him. I can't drop his acquaintance, on Tommie's account. The only other alternative is to keep Isabel out of his way. My good little girl shall not drift into a false position while I am living to look after her. When Mr. Hardyman calls to-morrow she shall be out on an errand. When he calls the next time she shall be upstairs with a headache. And if he tries it again she shall be away at my house in the country. If he makes any remarks on her absence—well, he will find that I can be just as dull of understanding as he is when the occasion calls for it.'

Having arrived at this satisfactory solution of the difficulty, Lady Lydiard became conscious of an irresistible impulse to summon Isabel to her presence and caress her. In the nature of a warm-hearted woman, this was only the inevitable reaction which followed the subsidence of anxiety about the girl, after her own resolution had set that anxiety at rest. She threw open the door and made one of her sudden appearances at the boudoir. Even in the fervent outpouring of her affection, there was still the inherent abruptness of manner which so strongly marked Lady Lydiard's character in all the relations of life.

'Did I give you a kiss, this morning?' she asked, when Isabel rose to receive her.

'Yes, my Lady,' said the girl, with her charming smile.

'Come, then, and give me a kiss in return. Do you love me? Very well, then, treat me like your mother. Never mind 'my lady' this time. Give me a good hug!'

Something in those homely words, or something perhaps in the look that accompanied them, touched sympathies in Isabel which seldom showed themselves on the surface. Her smiling lips trembled, the bright tears rose in her eyes. 'You are too good to me,' she murmured, with her head on Lady Lydiard's bosom. 'How can I ever love you enough in return?'

Lady Lydiard patted the pretty head that rested on her with such filial tenderness. 'There! there!' she said, 'Go back and play with Tommie, my dear. We may be as fond of each other as we like; but we mustn't cry. God bless you! Go away—go away!'

She turned aside quickly; her own eyes were moistening, and it was part of her character to be reluctant to let Isabel see it. 'Why have I made a fool of myself?' she wondered, as she approached the drawing-room door. 'It doesn't matter. I am all the better for it. Odd, that Mr. Hardyman should have made me feel fonder of Isabel than ever!'

With those reflections she re-entered the drawing-room—and suddenly checked herself with a start. 'Good Heavens!' she exclaimed irritably, 'how you frightened me! Why was I not told you were here?'

Having left the drawing-room in a state of solitude, Lady Lydiard on her return found herself suddenly confronted with a gentleman, mysteriously planted on the hearth-rug in her absence. The new visitor may be rightly described as a gray man. He had gray hair, eyebrows, and whiskers; he wore a gray coat, waistcoat, and trousers, and gray gloves. For the rest, his appearance was eminently suggestive of wealth and respectability and, in this case, appearances were really to be trusted. The gray man was no other than Lady Lydiard's legal adviser, Mr. Troy.

'I regret, my Lady, that I should have been so unfortunate as to startle you,' he said, with a certain underlying embarrassment in his manner. 'I had the honor of sending word by Mr. Moody that I would call at this hour, on some matters of business connected with your Ladyship's house property. I presumed that you expected to find me here, waiting your pleasure—'

Thus far Lady Lydiard had listened to her legal adviser, fixing her eyes on his face in her usually frank, straightforward way. She now stopped him in the middle of a sentence, with a change of expression in her own face which was undisguisedly a change to alarm.

'Don't apologize, Mr. Troy,' she said. 'I am to blame for forgetting your appointment and for not keeping my nerves under proper control.' She paused for a moment and took a seat before she said her next words. 'May I ask,' she resumed, 'if there is something unpleasant in the business that brings you here?'

'Nothing whatever, my Lady; mere formalities, which can wait till to-morrow or next day, if you wish it.'

Lady Lydiard's fingers drummed impatiently on the table. 'You have known me long enough, Mr. Troy, to know that I cannot endure suspense. You have something unpleasant to tell me.'

The lawyer respectfully remonstrated. 'Really, Lady Lydiard!—' he began.

'It won't do, Mr. Troy! I know how you look at me on ordinary occasions, and I see how you look at me now. You are a very clever lawyer; but, happily for the interests that I commit to your charge, you are also a thoroughly honest man. After twenty years' experience of you, you can't deceive me. You bring me bad news. Speak at once, sir, and speak plainly.'

Mr. Troy yielded—inch by inch, as it were. 'I bring news which, I fear, may annoy your Ladyship.' He paused, and advanced another inch. 'It is news which I only became acquainted with myself on entering this house.'

He waited again, and made another advance. 'I happened to meet your Ladyship's steward, Mr. Moody, in the hall—'

'Where is he?' Lady Lydiard interposed angrily. 'I can make him speak out, and I will. Send him here instantly.'

The lawyer made a last effort to hold off the coming disclosure a little longer. 'Mr. Moody will be here directly,' he said. 'Mr. Moody requested me to prepare your Ladyship—'

'Will you ring the bell, Mr. Troy, or must I?'

Moody had evidently been waiting outside while the lawyer spoke for him. He saved Mr. Troy the trouble of ringing the bell by presenting himself in the drawing-room. Lady Lydiard's eyes searched his face as he approached. Her bright complexion faded suddenly. Not a word more passed her lips. She looked, and waited.

In silence on his part, Moody laid an open sheet of paper on the table. The paper quivered in his trembling hand.

Lady Lydiard recovered herself first. 'Is that for me?' she asked.

'Yes, my Lady.'

She took up the paper without an instant's hesitation. Both the men watched her anxiously as she read it.

The handwriting was strange to her. The words were these:—