My Ladys Money | Page 6

better than
anybody."
Felix lifted his lively eyebrows with a mixed expression of curiosity
and surprise. "Who is Isabel?"
Lady Lydiard was vexed with herself for carelessly mentioning Isabel's
name in her nephew's presence. Felix was not the sort of person whom
she was desirous of admitting to her confidence in domestic matters.
"Isabel is an addition to my household since you were here last," she

answered shortly.
"Young and pretty?" inquired Felix. "Ah! you look serious, and you
don't answer me. Young and pretty, evidently. Which may I see first,
the addition to your household or the addition to your picture-gallery?
You look at the picture-gallery--I am answered again." He rose to
approach the archway, and stopped at his first step forward. "A sweet
girl is a dreadful responsibility, aunt," he resumed, with an ironical
assumption of gravity. "Do you know, I shouldn't be surprised if Isabel,
in the long run, cost you more than Hobbema. Who is this at the door?"
The person at the door was Robert Moody, returned from the bank. Mr.
Felix Sweetsir, being near-sighted, was obliged to fit his eye-glass in
position before he could recognize the prime minister of Lady Lydiard's
household.
"Ha! our worthy Moody. How well he wears! Not a gray hair on his
head--and look at mine! What dye do you use, Moody? If he had my
open disposition he would tell. As it is, he looks unutterable things, and
holds his tongue. Ah! if I could only have held my tongue--when I was
in the diplomatic service, you know--what a position I might have
occupied by this time! Don't let me interrupt you, Moody, if you have
anything to say to Lady Lydiard."
Having acknowledged Mr. Sweetsir's lively greeting by a formal bow,
and a grave look of wonder which respectfully repelled that vivacious
gentleman's flow of humor, Moody turned towards his mistress.
"Have you got the bank-note?" asked her Ladyship.
Moody laid the bank-note on the table.
"Am I in the way?" inquired Felix.
"No," said his aunt. "I have a letter to write; it won't occupy me for
more than a few minutes. You can stay here, or go and look at the
Hobbema, which you please."

Felix made a second sauntering attempt to reach the picture-gallery.
Arrived within a few steps of the entrance, he stopped again, attracted
by an open cabinet of Italian workmanship, filled with rare old china.
Being nothing if not a cultivated amateur, Mr. Sweetsir paused to pay
his passing tribute of admiration before the contents of the cabinet.
"Charming! charming!" he said to himself, with his head twisted
appreciatively a little on one side. Lady Lydiard and Moody left him in
undisturbed enjoyment of the china, and went on with the business of
the bank-note.
"Ought we to take the number of the note, in case of accident?" asked
her Ladyship.
Moody produced a slip of paper from his waistcoat pocket. "I took the
number, my Lady, at the bank."
"Very well. You keep it. While I am writing my letter, suppose you
direct the envelope. What is the clergyman's name?"
Moody mentioned the name and directed the envelope. Felix,
happening to look round at Lady Lydiard and the steward while they
were both engaged in writing, returned suddenly to the table as if he
had been struck by a new idea.
"Is there a third pen?" he asked. "Why shouldn't I write a line at once to
Hardyman, aunt? The sooner you have his opinion about Tommie the
better--don't you think so?"
Lady Lydiard pointed to the pen tray, with a smile. To show
consideration for her dog was to seize irresistibly on the high-road to
her favor. Felix set to work on his letter, in a large scrambling
handwriting, with plenty of ink and a noisy pen. "I declare we are like
clerks in an office," he remarked, in his cheery way. "All with our
noses to the paper, writing as if we lived by it! Here, Moody, let one of
the servants take this at once to Mr. Hardyman's."
The messenger was despatched. Robert returned, and waited near his
mistress, with the directed envelope in his hand. Felix sauntered back

slowly towards the picture-gallery, for the third time. In a moment
more Lady Lydiard finished her letter, and folded up the bank-note in it.
She had just taken the directed envelope from Moody, and had just
placed the letter inside it, when a scream from the inner room, in which
Isabel was nursing the sick dog, startled everybody. "My Lady! my
Lady!" cried the girl, distractedly, "Tommie is in a fit? Tommie is
dying!"
Lady Lydiard dropped the unclosed envelope on the table, and ran--yes,
short as she was and fat as she was, ran--into the inner room. The two
men,