LEFT alone in the drawing-room, Moody looked at the unfastenedenvelope on the table.

Considering the value of the inclosure, might he feel justifiedin wetting the gum and securing the envelope for safety's sake?After thinking it over, Moody decided that he was not justifiedin meddling with the letter. On reflection, her Ladyship mighthave changes to make in it or might have a postscript to add towhat she had already written. Apart too, from theseconsiderations, was it reasonable to act as if Lady Lydiard'shouse was a hotel, perpetually open to the intrusion ofstrangers? Objects worth twice five hundred pounds in theaggregate were scattered about on the tables and in the unlockedcabinets all round him. Moody withdrew, without furtherhesitation, to order the light restorative prescribed for himselfby Mr. Sweetsir.

The footman who took the curacoa into the picture gallery foundFelix recumbent on a sofa, admiring the famous Hobbema.

"Don't interrupt me," he said peevishly, catching the servant inthe act of staring at him. "Put down the bottle and go!"Forbidden to look at Mr. Sweetsir, the man's eyes as he left thegallery turned wonderingly towards the famous landscape. And whatdid he see? He saw one towering big cloud in the sky thatthreatened rain, two withered mahogany-colored trees sorely inwant of rain, a muddy road greatly the worse for rain, and avagabond boy running home who was afraid of the rain. That wasthe picture, to the footman's eye. He took a gloomy view of thestate of Mr. Sweetsir's brains on his return to the servants'hall. "A slate loose, poor devil!" That was the footman's reportof the brilliant Felix.

Immediately on the servant's departure, the silence in thepicture-gallery was broken by voices penetrating into it from thedrawing-room. Felix rose to a sitting position on the sofa. Hehad recognized the voice of Alfred Hardyman saying, "Don'tdisturb Lady Lydiard," and the voice of Moody answering, "I willjust knock at the door of her Ladyship's room, sir; you will findMr. Sweetsir in the picture-gallery."

The curtains over the archway parted, and disclosed the figure ofa tall man, with a closely cropped head set a little stiffly onhis shoulders. The immovable gravity of face and manner whichevery Englishman seems to acquire who lives constantly in thesociety of horses, was the gravity which this gentleman displayedas he entered the picture-gallery. He was a finely made, sinewyman, with clearly cut, regular features. If he had not beenaffected with horses on the brain he would doubtless have beenpersonally popular with the women. As it was, the serene andhippic gloom of the handsome horse-breeder daunted the daughtersof Eve, and they failed to make up their minds about the exactvalue of him, socially considered. Alfred Hardyman wasnevertheless a remarkable man in his way. He had been offered thecustomary alternatives submitted to the younger sons of thenobility--the Church or the diplomatic service--and had refusedthe one and the other. "I like horses," he said, "and I mean toget my living out of them. Don't talk to me about my position inthe world. Talk to my eldest brother, who gets the money and thetitle." Starting in life with these sensible views, and with asmall capital of five thousand pounds, Hardyman took his ownplace in the sphere that was fitted for him. At the period ofthis narrative he was already a rich man, and one of the greatestauthorities on horse-breeding in England. His prosperity made nochange in him. He was always the same grave, quiet, obstinatelyresolute man--true to the few friends whom he admitted to hisintimacy, and sincere to a fault in the expression of hisfeelings among persons whom he distrusted or disliked. As heentered the picture-gallery and paused for a moment looking atFelix on the sofa, his large, cold, steady gray eyes rested onthe little man with an indifference that just verged on contempt.Felix, on the other hand, sprang to his feet with alertpoliteness and greeted his friend with exuberant cordiality.

"Dear old boy! This is so good of you," he began. "I feel it--Ido assure you I feel it!"

"You needn't trouble yourself to feel it," was thequietly-ungracious answer. "Lady Lydiard brings me here. I cometo see the house--and the dog." He looked round the gallery inhis gravely attentive way. "I don't understand pictures," heremarked resignedly. "I shall go back to the drawing-room."

After a moment's consideration, Felix followed him into thedrawing-room, with the air of a man who was determined not to berepelled.

"Well?" asked Hardyman. "What is it?"

"About that matter?" Felix said, inquiringly.

"What matter?"

"Oh, you know. Will next week do?"

"Nex t week _won't_ do."

Mr. Felix Sweetsir cast one look at his friend. His friend wastoo intently occupied with the decorations of the drawing-room tonotice the look.

"Will to-morrow do?" Felix resumed, after an interval.

"Yes."

"At what time?"

"Between twelve and one in the afternoon."

"Between twelve and one in the afternoon," Felix repeated. Helooked again at Hardyman and took his hat. "Make my apologies tomy aunt," he said. "You must introduce yourself to her Ladyship.I can't wait here any longer." He walked out of the room, havingdeliberately returned the contemptuous indifference of Hardymanby a similar indifference on his own side, at parting.

Left by himself, Hardyman took a chair and glanced at the doorwhich led into the boudoir. The steward had knocked at that door,had disappeared through it, and had not appeared again. How muchlonger was Lady Lydiard's visitor to be left unnoticed in LadyLydiard's house?

As the question passed through his mind the boudoir door opened.For once in his life, Alfred Hardyman's composure deserted him.He started to his feet, like an ordinary mortal taken completelyby surprise

Instead of Mr. Moody, instead of Lady Lydiard, there appeared inthe open doorway a young woman in a state of embarrassment, whoactually quickened the beat of Mr. Hardyman's heart the moment heset eyes on her. Was the person who produced this amazingimpression at first sight a person of importance? Nothing of thesort. She was only "Isabel" surnamed "Miller." Even her name hadnothing in it. Only "Isabel Miller!"

Had she any pretensions to distinction in virtue of her personalappearance?

It is not easy to answer the question. The women (let us put theworst judges first) had long since discovered that she wantedthat indispensable elegance of figure which is derived fromslimness of waist and length of limb. The men (who were betteracquainted with the subject) looked at her figure from theirpoint of view; and, finding it essentially embraceable, asked fornothing more. It might have been her bright complexion or itmight have been the bold luster of her eyes (as the womenconsidered it), that dazzled the lords of creation generally, andmade them all alike incompetent to discover her faults. Still,she had compensating attractions which no severity of criticismcould dispute. Her smile, beginning at her lips, flowed brightlyand instantly over her whole face. A delicious atmosphere ofhealth, freshness, and good humor seemed to radiate from herwherever she went and whatever she did. For the rest her brownhair grew low over her broad white forehead, and was topped by aneat little lace cap with ribbons of a violet color. A plaincollar and plain cuffs encircled her smooth, round neck, and herplump dimpled hands. Her merino dress, covering but not hidingthe charming outline of her bosom, matched the color of thecap-ribbons, and was brightened by a white muslin aproncoquettishly trimmed about the pockets, a gift from Lady Lydiard.Blushing and smiling, she let the door fall to behind her, and,shyly approaching the stranger, said to him, in her small, clearvoice, "If you please, sir, are you Mr. Hardyman?"

The gravity of the great horse-breeder deserted him at her firstquestion. He smiled as he acknowledged that he was "Mr.Hardyman"--he smiled as he offered her a chair.

"No, thank you, sir," she said, with a quaintly prettyinclination of her head. "I am only sent here to make herLadyship's apologies. She has put the poor dear dog into a warmbath, and she can't leave him. And Mr. Moody can't come insteadof me, because I was too frightened to be of any use, and so hehad to hold the dog. That's all. We are very anxious sir, to knowif the warm bath is the right thing. Please come into the roomand tell us."

She led the way back to the door. Hardyman, naturally enough, wasslow to follow her. When a man is fascinated by the charm ofyouth and beauty, he is in no hurry to transfer his attention toa sick animal in a bath. Hardyman seized on the first excuse thathe could devise for keeping Isabel to himself--that is to say,for keeping her in the drawing-room.

"I think I shall be better able to help you," he said, "if youwill tell me something about the dog first."

Even his accent in speaking had altered to a certain degree. Thequiet, dreary monotone in which he habitually spoke quickened alittle under his present excitement. As for Isabel, she was toodeeply interested in Tommie's welfare to suspect that she wasbeing made the victim of a stratagem. She left the door andreturned to Hardyman with eager eyes. "What can I tell you, sir?"she asked innocently.

Hardyman pressed his advantage without mercy.

"You can tell me what sort of dog he is?"

"Yes, sir."

"How old he is?"

"Yes, sir."

"What his name is?--what his temper is?--what his illness is?what diseases his father and mother had?--what--"

Isabel's head began to turn giddy. "One thing at a time, sir!"she interposed, with a gesture of entreaty. "The dog sleeps on mybed, and I had a bad night with him, he disturbed me so, and I amafraid I am very stupid this morning. His name is Tommie. We areobliged to call him by it, because he won't answer to any otherthan the name he had when my Lady bought him. But we spell itwith an _i e_ at the end, which makes it less vulgar than Tommywith a _y_. I am very sorry, sir--I forget what else you wantedto know. Please to come in here and my Lady will tell youeverything."

She tried to get back to the door of the boudoir. Hardyman,feasting his eyes on the pretty, changeful face that looked up athim with such innocent confidence in his authority, drew her awayfrom the door by the one means at his disposal. He returned tohis questions about Tommie.

"Wait a little, please. What sort of dog is he?"

Isabel turned back again from the door. To describe Tommie was alabor of love. "He is the most beautiful dog in the world!" thegirl began, with kindling eyes. "He has the most exquisite whitecurly hair and two light brown patches on his back--and, oh!_such_ lovely dark eyes! They call him a Scotch terrier. When heis well his appetite is truly wonderful--nothing comes amiss tohim, sir, from pate de foie gras to potatoes. He has his enemies,poor dear, though you wouldn't think it. People who won't put upwith being bitten by him (what shocking tempers one does meetwith, to be sure!) call him a mongrel. Isn't it a shame? Pleasecome in and see him, sir; my Lady will be tired of waiting."

Another journey to the door followed those words, checkedinstantly by a serious objection.

"Stop a minute! You must tell me what his temper is, or I can donothing for him."

Isabel returned once more, feeling that it was really seriousthis time. Her gravity was even more charming than her gayety. Asshe lifted her face to him, with large solemn eyes, expressive ofher sense of responsibility, Hardyman would have given everyhorse in his stables to have had the privilege of taking her inhis arms and kissing her.

"Tommie has the temper of an angel with the people he likes," shesaid. "When he bites, it generally means that he objects tostrangers. He loves my Lady, and he loves Mr. Moody, and he lovesme, and--and I think that's all. This way, sir, if you please, Iam sure I heard my Lady call."

"No," said Hardyman, in his immovably obstinate way. "Nobodycalled. About this dog's temper? Doesn't he take to anystrangers? What sort of people does he bite in general?"

Isabel's pretty lips began to curl upward at the corners in aquaint smile. Hardyman's last imbecile question had opened hereyes to the true state of the case. Still, Tommie's future was inthis strange gentleman's hands; she felt bound to consider that.And, moreover, it was no everyday event, in Isabel's experience,to fascinate a famous personage, who was also a magnificent andperfectly dressed man. She ran the risk of wasting another minuteor two, and went on with the memoirs of Tommie.

"I must own, sir," she resumed, "that he behaves a littleungratefully--even to strangers who take an interest in him. Whenhe gets lost in the streets (which is very often), he sits downon the pavement and howls till he collects a pitying crowd roundhim; and when they try to read his name and address on his collarhe snaps at them. The servants generally find him and bring himback; and as soon as he gets home he turns round on the doorstepand snaps at the servants. I think it must be his fun. You shouldsee him sitting up in his chair at dinner-time, waiting to behelped, with his fore paws on the edge of the table, like thehands of a gentleman at a public dinner making a speech. But,oh!" cried Isabel, checking herself, with the tears in her eyes,"how can I talk of him in this way when 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 littleair, and he stood still on the pavement, quite stupefied. For thefirst 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 whenthe memoirs of Tommie were suddenly cut short by the voice ofLady 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 Ladyshipfirst."

She still held the door open, and pointed entreatingly to thepassage which led to the boudoir "I shall be blamed, sir," shesaid, "if you don't go in."

This statement of the case left Hardyman no alternative. Hepresented himself to Lady Lydiard without another moment ofdelay.

Having closed the drawing-room door on him, Isabel waited alittle, absorbed in her own thoughts.

She was now perfectly well aware of the effect which she hadproduced on Hardyman. Her vanity, it is not to be denied, wasflattered by his admiration--he was so grand and so tall, and hehad such fine large eyes. The girl looked prettier than ever asshe stood with her head down and her color heightened, smiling toherself. A clock on the chimney-piece striking the half-hourroused her. She cast one look at the glass, as she passed it, andwent to the table at which Lady Lydiard had been writing.

Methodical Mr. Moody, in submitting to be employed asbath-attendant upon Tommie, had not forgotten the interests ofhis mistress. He reminded her Ladyship that she had left herletter, with a bank-note inclosed in it, unsealed. Absorbed inthe dog, Lady Lydiard answered, "Isabel is doing nothing, letIsabel seal it. Show Mr. Hardyman in here," she continued,turning to Isabel, "and then seal a letter of mine which you willfind on the table." "And when you have sealed it," careful Mr.Moody added, "put it back on the table; I will take charge of itwhen her Ladyship has done with me."

Such were the special instructions which now detained Isabel inthe drawing-room. She lighted the taper, and closed and sealedthe open envelope, without feeling curiosity enough even to lookat the address. Mr. Hardyman was the uppermost subject in herthoughts. Leaving the sealed letter on the table, she returned tothe fireplace, and studied her own charming face attentively inthe looking-glass. The time passed--and Isabel's reflection wasstill the subject of Isabel's contemplation . "He must see manybeautiful ladies," she thought, veering backward and forwardbetween pride and humility. "I wonder what he sees in Me?"

The clock struck the hour. Almost at the same moment theboudoir-door opened, and Robert Moody, released at last fromattendance on Tommie, entered the drawing-room.