My Lady's Money

Hardyman himself—who saw as little of her as possible, whose frankly straightforward nature recoiled by instinct from contact with his sister—could think of no fitter person to make Miss Pink's reception agreeable to her, while he was devoting his own attentions to her niece. Mrs. Drumblade accepted the position thus offered with the most amiable readiness. In her own private mind she placed an interpretation on her brother's motives which did him the grossest injustice. She believed that Hardyman's designs on Isabel contemplated the most profligate result. To assist this purpose, while the girl's nearest relative was supposed to be taking care of her, was Mrs. Drumblade's idea of 'fun.' Her worst enemies admitted that the honorable Lavia had redeeming qualities, and owned that a keen sense of humor was one of her merits.

Was Miss Pink a likely person to resist the fascinations of Mrs. Drumblade? Alas, for the ex-schoolmistress! before she had been five minutes at the farm, Hardyman's sister had fished for her, caught her, landed her. Poor Miss Pink!

Mrs. Drumblade could assume a grave dignity of manner when the occasion called for it. She was grave, she was dignified, when Hardyman performed the ceremonies of introduction. She would not say she was charmed to meet Miss Pink—the ordinary slang of society was not for Miss Pink's ears—she would say she felt this introduction as a privilege. It was so seldom one met with persons of trained intellect in society. Mrs. Drumblade was already informed of Miss Pink's earlier triumphs in the instruction of youth. Mrs. Drumblade had not been blessed with children herself; but she had nephews and nieces, and she was anxious about their education, especially the nieces. What a sweet, modest girl Miss Isabel was! The fondest wish she could form for her nieces would be that they should resemble Miss Isabel when they grew up. The question was, as to the best method of education. She would own that she had selfish motives in becoming acquainted with Miss Pink. They were at the farm, no doubt, to see Alfred's horses. Mrs. Drumblade did not understand horses; her interest was in the question of education. She might even confess that she had accepted Alfred's invitation in the hope of hearing Miss Pink's views. There would be opportunities, she trusted, for a little instructive conversation on that subject. It was, perhaps, ridiculous to talk, at her age, of feeling as if she was Miss Pink's pupil; and yet it exactly expressed the nature of the aspiration which was then in her mind.

In these terms, feeling her way with the utmost nicety, Mrs. Drumblade wound the net of flattery round and round Miss Pink until her hold on that innocent lady was, in every sense of the word, secure. Before half the horses had been passed under review, Hardyman and Isabel were out of sight, and Mrs. Drumblade and Miss Pink were lost in the intricacies of the stables. 'Excessively stupid of me! We had better go back, and establish ourselves comfortably in the parlor. When my brother misses us, he and your charming niece will return to look for us in the cottage.' Under cover of this arrangement the separation became complete. Miss Pink held forth on education to Mrs. Drumblade in the parlor; while Hardyman and Isabel were on their way to a paddock at the farthest limits of the property.

'I am afraid you are getting a little tired,' said Hardyman. 'Won't you take my arm?'

Isabel was on her guard: she had not forgotten what Lady Lydiard had said to her. 'No, thank you, Mr. Hardyman; I am a better walker than you think.'

Hardyman continued the conversation in his blunt, resolute way. 'I wonder whether you will believe me,' he asked, 'if I tell you that this is one of the happiest days of my life.'

'I should think you were always happy,' Isabel cautiously replied, 'having such a pretty place to live in as this.'

Hardyman met that answer with one of his quietly-positive denials. 'A man is never happy by himself,' he said. 'He is happy with a companion. For instance, I am happy with you.'

Isabel stopped and looked back. Hardyman's language was becoming a little too explicit. 'Surely we have lost Mrs. Drumblade and my aunt,' she said. 'I don't see them anywhere.'

'You will see them directly; they are only a long way behind.' With this assurance, he returned, in his own obstinate way, to his one object in view. 'Miss Isabel, I want to ask you a question. I'm not a ladies' man. I speak my mind plainly to everybody—women included. Do you like being here to-day?'

Isabel's gravity was not proof against this very downright question. 'I should be hard to please,' she said laughing, 'if I didn't enjoy my visit to the farm.'

Hardyman pushed steadily forward through the obstacle of the farm to the question of the farm's master. 'You like being here,' he repeated. 'Do you like Me?'

This was serious. Isabel drew back a little, and looked at him. He waited with the most impenetrable gravity for her reply.

'I think you can hardly expect me to answer that question,' she said

'Why not?'

'Our acquaintance has been a very short one, Mr. Hardyman. And, if you are so good as to forget the difference between us, I think I ought to remember it.'

'What difference?'

'The difference in rank.'

Hardyman suddenly stood still, and emphasized his next words by digging his stick into the grass.

'If anything I have said has vexed you,' he began, 'tell me so plainly, Miss Isabel, and I'll ask your pardon. But don't throw my rank in my face. I cut adrift from all that nonsense when I took this farm and got my living out of the horses. What has a man's rank to do with a man's feelings?' he went on, with another emphatic dig of his stick. 'I am quite serious in asking if you like me—for this good reason, that I like you. Yes, I do. You remember that day when I bled the old lady's dog—well, I have found out since then that there's a sort of incompleteness in my life which I never suspected before. It's you who have put that idea into my head. You didn't mean it, I dare say, but you have done it all the same. I sat alone here yesterday evening smoking my pipe—and I didn't enjoy it. I breakfasted alone this morning—and I didn't enjoy that. I said to myself, She's coming to lunch, that's one comfort—I shall enjoy lunch. That's what I feel, roughly described. I don't suppose I've been five minutes together without thinking of you, now in one way and now in another, since the day when I first saw you. When a man comes to my time of life, and has had any experience, he knows what that means. It means, in plain English, that his heart is set on a woman. You're the woman.'

Isabel had thus far made several attempts to interrupt him, without success. But, when Hardyman's confession attained its culminating point, she insisted on being heard.

'If you will excuse me, sir,' she interposed gravely, 'I think I had better go back to the cottage. My aunt is a stranger here, and she doesn't know where to look for us.'