My Ladys Money | Page 8

on the other hand, sprang to his feet with alert politeness and greeted
his friend with exuberant cordiality.
"Dear old boy! This is so good of you," he began. "I feel it--I do assure
you I feel it!"
"You needn't trouble yourself to feel it," was the quietly-ungracious
answer. "Lady Lydiard brings me here. I come to see the house--and
the dog." He looked round the gallery in his gravely attentive way. "I
don't understand pictures," he remarked resignedly. "I shall go back to
the drawing-room."
After a moment's consideration, Felix followed him into the
drawing-room, with the air of a man who was determined not to be
repelled.
"Well?" asked Hardyman. "What is it?"
"About that matter?" Felix said, inquiringly.
"What matter?"

"Oh, you know. Will next week do?"
"Next week won't do."
Mr. Felix Sweetsir cast one look at his friend. His friend was too
intently occupied with the decorations of the drawing-room to notice
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. He looked
again at Hardyman and took his hat. "Make my apologies to my aunt,"
he said. "You must introduce yourself to her Ladyship. I can't wait here
any longer." He walked out of the room, having deliberately returned
the contemptuous indifference of Hardyman by a similar indifference
on his own side, at parting.
Left by himself, Hardyman took a chair and glanced at the door which
led into the boudoir. The steward had knocked at that door, had
disappeared through it, and had not appeared again. How much longer
was Lady Lydiard's visitor to be left unnoticed in Lady Lydiard'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 completely by surprise.
Instead of Mr. Moody, instead of Lady Lydiard, there appeared in the
open doorway a young woman in a state of embarrassment, who
actually quickened the beat of Mr. Hardyman's heart the moment he set
eyes on her. Was the person who produced this amazing impression at
first sight a person of importance? Nothing of the sort. She was only

"Isabel" surnamed "Miller." Even her name had nothing in it. Only
"Isabel Miller!"
Had she any pretensions to distinction in virtue of her personal
appearance?
It is not easy to answer the question. The women (let us put the worst
judges first) had long since discovered that she wanted that
indispensable elegance of figure which is derived from slimness of
waist and length of limb. The men (who were better acquainted with
the subject) looked at her figure from their point of view; and, finding it
essentially embraceable, asked for nothing more. It might have been
her bright complexion or it might have been the bold luster of her eyes
(as the women considered it), that dazzled the lords of creation
generally, and made them all alike incompetent to discover her faults.
Still, she had compensating attractions which no severity of criticism
could dispute. Her smile, beginning at her lips, flowed brightly and
instantly over her whole face. A delicious atmosphere of health,
freshness, and good humor seemed to radiate from her wherever she
went and whatever she did. For the rest her brown hair grew low over
her broad white forehead, and was topped by a neat little lace cap with
ribbons of a violet color. A plain collar and plain cuffs encircled her
smooth, round neck, and her plump dimpled hands. Her merino dress,
covering but not hiding the charming outline of her bosom, matched the
color of the cap-ribbons, and was brightened by a white muslin apron
coquettishly 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, clear voice, "If you
please, sir, are you Mr. Hardyman?"
The gravity of the great horse-breeder deserted him at her first question.
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 pretty inclination of her
head. "I am only sent here to make her Ladyship's apologies. She has
put the poor dear dog into a warm bath, and she can't leave him. And
Mr. Moody can't come instead of me, because I was too frightened to

be of any use, and so he had to hold the dog. That's all. We are very
anxious sir, to know if the warm bath is the right thing. Please come
into the room and tell us."
She led the way back to the door.