he is so dreadfully ill! Some of them say it's bronchitis, and some say it's his liver. Only yesterday I took him to the front door to give him a little air, and he stood still on the pavement, quite stupefied. For the first time in his life, he snapped at nobody who went by; and, oh, dear, he hadn't even the heart to smell a lamp-post!'
Isabel had barely stated this last afflicting circumstance when the memoirs of Tommie were suddenly cut short by the voice of Lady Lydiard—really calling this time—from the inner room.
'Isabel! Isabel!' cried her Ladyship, 'what are you about?'
Isabel ran to the door of the boudoir and threw it open. 'Go in, sir! Pray go in!' she said.
'Without you?' Hardyman asked.
'I will follow you, sir. I have something to do for her Ladyship first.'
She still held the door open, and pointed entreatingly to the passage which led to the boudoir 'I shall be blamed, sir,' she said, 'if you don't go in.'
This statement of the case left Hardyman no alternative. He presented himself to Lady Lydiard without another moment of delay.
Having closed the drawing-room door on him, Isabel waited a little, absorbed in her own thoughts.
She was now perfectly well aware of the effect which she had produced on Hardyman. Her vanity, it is not to be denied, was flattered by his admiration—he was so grand and so tall, and he had such fine large eyes. The girl looked prettier than ever as she stood with her head down and her color heightened, smiling to herself. A clock on the chimney-piece striking the half-hour roused her. She cast one look at the glass, as she passed it, and went to the table at which Lady Lydiard had been writing.
Methodical Mr. Moody, in submitting to be employed as bath-attendant upon Tommie, had not forgotten the interests of his mistress. He reminded her Ladyship that she had left her letter, with a bank-note inclosed in it, unsealed. Absorbed in the dog, Lady Lydiard answered, 'Isabel is doing nothing, let Isabel seal it. Show Mr. Hardyman in here,' she continued, turning to Isabel, 'and then seal a letter of mine which you will find on the table.' 'And when you have sealed it,' careful Mr. Moody added, 'put it back on the table; I will take charge of it when her Ladyship has done with me.'
Such were the special instructions which now detained Isabel in the drawing-room. She lighted the taper, and closed and sealed the open envelope, without feeling curiosity enough even to look at the address. Mr. Hardyman was the uppermost subject in her thoughts. Leaving the sealed letter on the table, she returned to the fireplace, and studied her own charming face attentively in the looking-glass. The time passed—and Isabel's reflection was still the subject of Isabel's contemplation. 'He must see many beautiful ladies,' she thought, veering backward and forward between pride and humility. 'I wonder what he sees in Me?'
The clock struck the hour. Almost at the same moment the boudoir-door opened, and Robert Moody, released at last from attendance on Tommie, entered the drawing-room.
CHAPTER V.
'WELL?' asked Isabel eagerly, 'what does Mr. Hardyman say? Does he think he can cure Tommie?'
Moody answered a little coldly and stiffly. His dark, deeply-set eyes rested on Isabel with an uneasy look.
'Mr. Hardyman seems to understand animals,' he said. 'He lifted the dog's eyelid and looked at his eyes, and then he told us the bath was useless.'
'Go on!' said Isabel impatiently. 'He did something, I suppose, besides telling you that the bath was useless?'
'He took a knife out of his pocket, with a lancet in it.'
Isabel clasped her hands with a faint cry of horror. 'Oh, Mr. Moody! did he hurt Tommie?'
'Hurt him?' Moody repeated, indignant at the interest which she felt in the animal, and the indifference which she exhibited towards the man (as represented by himself). 'Hurt him, indeed! Mr. Hardyman bled the brute—'
'Brute?' Isabel reiterated, with flashing eyes. 'I know some people, Mr. Moody, who really deserve to be called by that horrid word. If you can't say 'Tommie,' when you speak of him in my presence, be so good as to say 'the dog.''
Moody yielded with the worst possible grace. 'Oh, very well! Mr. Hardyman bled the dog, and brought him to his senses directly. I am charged to tell you—' He stopped, as if the message which he was instructed to deliver was in the last degree distasteful to him.
'Well, what were you charged to tell me?'
'I was to say that Mr. Hardyman will give you instructions how to treat the dog for the future.'
Isabel hastened to the door, eager to receive her instructions. Moody stopped her before she could open it.
'You are in a great hurry to get to Mr. Hardyman,' he remarked.
Isabel looked back at him in surprise. 'You said just now that Mr. Hardyman was waiting to tell me how to nurse Tommie.'
'Let him wait,' Moody rejoined sternly. 'When I left him, he was sufficiently occupied in expressing his favorable opinion of you to her Ladyship.'
The steward's pale face turned paler still as he said those words. With the arrival of Isabel in Lady Lydiard's house 'his time had come'—exactly as the women in the servants' hall had predicted. At last the impenetrable man felt the influence of the sex; at last he knew the passion of love misplaced, ill-starred, hopeless love, for a woman who was young enough to be his child. He had already spoken to Isabel more than once in terms which told his secret plainly enough. But the smouldering fire of jealousy in the man, fanned into flame by Hardyman, now showed itself for the first time. His looks, even more than his words, would have warned a woman with any knowledge of the natures of men to be careful how she answered him. Young, giddy, and inexperienced, Isabel followed the flippant impulse of the moment, without a thought of the consequences. 'I'm sure it's very kind of Mr. Hardyman to
