"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, a nd 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, forgotthe 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.
"Who is that you're talking of, Miss Pink?""I am talking of our neighbor, Lady Lydiard--the Honorable Mr. Hardyman.""Do you mean Alfred Hardyman--the man who breeds the horses?" "The distinguished gentleman who owns the famous stud-farm," saidMiss Pink, correcting the bluntly-direct form in which Lady Lydiard had put her question.
"Is he in the habit of visiting here?" the old lady inquired, with a sudden appearance of anxiety. "Do you know him?""I had the honor of being introduced to Mr. Hardyman at our last flower show," Miss Pink replied. "He has not yet favored me with a visit."Lady Lydiard's anxiety appeared to be to some extent relieved.
"I knew that Hardyman's farm was in this county," she said; "but I had no notion that it was in the neighborhood of South Morden. How far away is he--ten or a dozen miles, eh?""Not more than three miles," answered Miss Pink. "We consider him quite a near neighbor of ours."Renewed anxiety showed itself in Lady Lydiard. She looked round sharply at Isabel. The girl's head was bent so low over the rough head of the dog that her face was almost entirely concealed from view. So far as appearances went, she seemed to be entirely absorbed in fondling Tommie. Lady Lydiard roused her with a tap of the green fan.
"Take Tommie out, Isabel, for a run in the garden," she said. "He won't sit still much longer--and he may annoy Miss Pink. Mr. Troy, will you kindly help Isabel to keep my ill-trained dog in order?"Mr. Troy got on his feet, and, not very willingly, followed Isabel out ofthe room. "They will quarrel now, to a dead certainty!" he thought to himself, as he closed the door. "Have you any idea of what this means?" he said to his companion, as he joined her in the hall. "What has Mr. Hardyman done to excite all this interest in him?"Isabel's guilty color rose. She knew perfectly well that Hardyman's unconcealed admiration of her was the guiding motive of Lady Lydiard's inquiries. If she had told the truth, Mr. Troy would have unquestionably returned to the drawing-room, with or without an acceptable excuse for intruding himself. But Isabel was a woman; and her answer, it is needless to say, was "I don't know, I'm sure."In the mean time, the interview between the two ladies began in a manner which would have astonished Mr. Troy--they were both silent. For once in her life Lady Lydiard was considering what she should say, before she said it. Miss Pink, on her side, naturally waited to hear what object her Ladyship had in view--waited, until her small reserve of patience gave way. Urged by irresistible curiosity, she spoke first.
"Have you anything to say to me in private?" she asked.
Lady Lydiard had not got to the end of her reflections. She said "Yes!"--and she said no more.
"Is it anything relating to my niece?" persisted Miss Pink.
