My Lady's Money

intrusion, sir. I will trouble you with no explanations. I will only ask one question. Have you a memorandum of the number of that five-hundred pound note you paid away in France?'

Hardyman lost all control over himself.

'You scoundrel!' he cried, 'have you been prying into my private affairs? Is it your business to know what I did in France?'

'Is it your vengeance on a woman to refuse to tell her the number of a bank-note?' Moody rejoined, firmly.

That answer forced its way, through Hardyman's anger, to Hardyman's sense of honor. He rose and advanced to Moody. For a moment the two men faced each other in silence. 'You're a bold fellow,' said Hardyman, with a sudden change from anger to irony. 'I'll do the lady justice. I'll look at my pocketbook.'

He put his hand into the breast-pocket of his coat; he searched his other pockets; he turned over the objects on his writing-table. The book was gone.

Moody watched him with a feeling of despair. 'Oh! Mr. Hardyman, don't say you have lost your pocketbook!'

He sat down again at his desk, with sullen submission to the new disaster. 'All I can say is you're at liberty to look for it,' he replied. 'I must have dropped it somewhere.' He turned impatiently to the foreman, 'Now then! What is the next check wanted? I shall go mad if I wait in this damned place much longer!'

Moody left him, and found his way to the servants' offices. 'Mr. Hardyman has lost his pocketbook,' he said. 'Look for it, indoors and out—on the lawn, and in the tent. Ten pounds reward for the man who finds it!'

Servants and waiters instantly dispersed, eager for the promised reward. The men who pursued the search outside the cottage divided their forces. Some of them examined the lawn and the flower-beds. Others went straight to the empty tent. These last were too completely absorbed in pursuing the object in view to notice that they disturbed a dog, eating a stolen lunch of his own from the morsels left on the plates. The dog slunk away under the canvas when the men came in, waited in hiding until they had gone, then returned to the tent, and went on with his luncheon.

Moody hastened back to the part of the grounds (close to the shrubbery) in which Isabel was waiting his return.

She looked at him, while he was telling her of his interview with Hardyman, with an expression in her eyes which he had never seen in them before—an expression which set his heart beating wildly, and made him break off in his narrative before he had reached the end.

'I understand,' she said quietly, as he stopped in confusion. 'You have made one more sacrifice to my welfare. Robert! I believe you are the noblest man that ever breathed the breath of life!'

His eyes sank before hers; he blushed like a boy. 'I have done nothing for you yet,' he said. 'Don't despair of the future, if the pocketbook should not be found. I know who the man is who received the bank note; and I have only to find him to decide the question whether it is the stolen note or not.'

She smiled sadly as his enthusiasm. 'Are you going back to Mr. Sharon to help you?' she asked. 'That trick he played me has destroyed my belief in him. He no more knows than I do who the thief really is.'

'You are mistaken, Isabel. He knows—and I know.' He stopped there, and made a sign to her to be silent. One of the servants was approaching them.

'Is the pocketbook found?' Moody asked.

'No, sir.'

'Has Mr. Hardyman left the cottage?'

'He has just gone, sir. Have you any further instructions to give us?'

'No. There is my address in London, if the pocketbook should be found.'

The man took the card that was handed to him and retired. Moody offered his arm to Isabel. 'I am at your service,' he said, 'when you wish to return to your aunt.'

They had advanced nearly as far as the tent, on their way out of the grounds, when they were met by a gentleman walking towards them from the cottage. He was a stranger to Isabel. Moody immediately recognized him as Mr. Felix Sweetsir.

'Ha! our good Moody!' cried Felix. 'Enviable man! you look younger than ever.' He took off his hat to Isabel; his bright restless eyes suddenly became quiet as they rested on her. 'Have I the honor of addressing the future Mrs. Hardyman? May I offer my best congratulations? What has become of our friend Alfred?'

Moody answered for Isabel. 'If you will make inquiries at the cottage, sir,' he said, 'you will find that you are mistaken, to say the least of it, in addressing your questions to this young lady.'

Felix took off his hat again—with the most becoming appearance of surprise and distress.

'Something wrong, I fear?' he said, addressing Isabel. 'I am, indeed, ashamed if I have ignorantly given you a moment's pain. Pray accept my most sincere apologies. I have only this instant arrived; my health would not allow me to be present at the luncheon. Permit me to express the earnest hope that matters may be set right to the satisfaction of all parties. Good-afternoon!'

He bowed with elaborate courtesy, and turned back to the cottage.

'Who is that?' Isabel asked.

'Lady Lydiard's nephew, Mr. Felix Sweetsir,' Moody answered, with a sudden sternness of tone, and a sudden coldness of manner, which surprised Isabel.

'You don't like him?' she said.

As she spoke, Fe lix stopped to give audience to one of the grooms, who had apparently been sent with a message to him. He turned so that his face was once more visible to Isabel. Moody pressed her hand significantly as it rested on his arm.