breath—Lady Lydiard sat down by Isabel's side, and opened a large green fan that hung at her girdle. 'You have no idea, Miss Pink, how fat people suffer in hot weather,' said the old lady, using her fan vigorously.
Miss Pink's eyes dropped modestly to the ground—'fat' was such a coarse word to use, if a lady
Lady Lydiard shook her head.
'A glass of water?'
Lady Lydiard declined this last hospitable proposal with an exclamation of disgust. 'Have you got any beer?' she inquired.
'I beg your Ladyship's pardon,' said Miss Pink, doubting the evidence of her own ears. 'Did you say—beer?'
Lady Lydiard gesticulated vehemently with her fan. 'Yes, to be sure! Beer! beer!'
Miss Pink rose, with a countenance expressive of genteel disgust, and rang the bell. 'I think you have beer downstairs, Susan?' she said, when the maid appeared at the door.
'Yes, miss.'
'A glass of beer for Lady Lydiard,' said Miss Pink—under protest.
'Bring it in a jug,' shouted her Ladyship, as the maid left the room. 'I like to froth it up for myself,' she continued, addressing Miss Pink. 'Isabel sometimes does it for me, when she is at home—don't you, my dear?'
Miss Pink had been waiting her opportunity to assert her own claim to the possession of her own niece, from the time when Lady Lydiard had coolly declared her intention of taking Isabel back with her. The opportunity now presented itself.
'Your Ladyship will pardon me,' she said, 'if I remark that my niece's home is under my humble roof. I am properly sensible, I hope, of your kindness to Isabel, but while she remains the object of a disgraceful suspicion she remains with me.'
Lady Lydiard closed her fan with an angry snap.
'You are completely mistaken, Miss Pink. You may not mean it—but you speak most unjustly if you say that your niece is an object of suspicion to me, or to anybody in my house.'
Mr. Troy, quietly listening up to this point now interposed to stop the discussion before it could degenerate into a personal quarrel. His keen observation, aided by his accurate knowledge of his client's character, had plainly revealed to him what was passing in Lady Lydiard's mind. She had entered the house, feeling (perhaps unconsciously) a jealousy of Miss Pink, as her predecessor in Isabel's affections, and as the natural protectress of the girl under existing circumstances. Miss Pink's reception of her dog had additionally irritated the old lady. She had taken a malicious pleasure in shocking the schoolmistress's sense of propriety—and she was now only too ready to proceed to further extremities on the delicate question of Isabel's justification for leaving her house. For Isabel's own sake, therefore—to say nothing of other reasons—it was urgently desirable to keep the peace between the two ladies. With this excellent object in view, Mr. Troy seized his opportunity of striking into the conversation for the first time.
'Pardon me, Lady Lydiard,' he said, 'you are speaking of a subject which has been already sufficiently discussed between Miss Pink and myself. I think we shall do better not to dwell uselessly on past events, but to direct our attention to the future. We are all equally satisfied of the complete rectitude of Miss Isabel's conduct, and we are all equally interested in the vindication of her good name.'
Whether these temperate words would of themselves have exercised the pacifying influence at which Mr. Troy aimed may be doubtful. But, as he ceased speaking, a powerful auxiliary appeared in the shape of the beer. Lady Lydiard seized on the jug, and filled the tumbler for herself with an unsteady hand. Miss Pink, trembling for the integrity of her carpet, and scandalized at seeing a peeress drinking beer like a washer-woman, forgot the sharp answer that was just rising to her lips when the lawyer interfered. 'Small!' said Lady Lydiard, setting down the empty tumbler, and referring to the quality of the beer. 'But very pleasant and refreshing. What's the servant's name? Susan? Well, Susan, I was dying of thirst and you have saved my life. You can leave the jug—I dare say I shall empty it before I go.'
Mr. Troy, watching Miss Pink's face, saw that it was time to change the subject again.
'Did you notice the old village, Lady Lydiard, on your way here?' he asked. 'The artists consider it one of the most picturesque places in England.'
'I noticed that it was a very dirty village,' Lady Lydiard answered, still bent on making herself disagreeable to Miss Pink. 'The artists may say what they please; I see nothing to admire in rotten cottages, and bad drainage, and ignorant people. I suppose the neighborhood has its advantages. It looks dull enough, to my mind.'
Isabel had hitherto modestly restricted her exertions to keeping Tommie quiet on her lap. Like Mr. Troy, she occasionally looked at her aunt—and she now made a timid attempt to defend the neighborhood as a duty that she owed to Miss Pink.
'Oh, my Lady! don't say it's a dull neighborhood,' she pleaded. 'There are such pretty walks all round us. And, when you get to the hills, the view is beautiful.'
Lady Lydiard's answer to this was a little masterpiece of good-humored contempt. She patted Isabel's cheek, and said, 'Pooh! Pooh!'
'Your Ladyship does not admire the beauties of Nature,' Miss Pink remarked, with a compassionate smile. 'As we get older, no doubt our sight begins to fail—'
'And we leave off canting about the beauties of Nature,' added Lady Lydiard. 'I hate the country. Give me London, and the pleasures of society.'
'Come! come! Do the country justice, Lady Lydiard!' put in peace-making Mr. Troy. 'There is plenty of society to be found out of London—as good society as the world can show.'
'The sort of society,' added Miss Pink, 'which is to be found, for example, in this neighborhood. Her Ladyship is evidently not aware that persons of distinction surround us, whichever way we turn. I may instance among others, the Honorable Mr. Hardyman—'
Lady Lydiard, in the act of pouring out a second glassful of beer, suddenly set down the jug.
