My Lady's Money

by Wilkie Collins

  CHAPTER IV.

  LEFT alone in the drawing-room, Moody looked at the unfastened envelopeon the table.

  Considering the value of the inclosure, might he feel justified inwetting the gum and securing the envelope for safety's sake? Afterthinking it over, Moody decided that he was not justified in meddlingwith the letter. On reflection, her Ladyship might have changes to makein it or might have a postscript to add to what she had already written.Apart too, from these considerations, was it reasonable to act as ifLady Lydiard's house was a hotel, perpetually open to the intrusion ofstrangers? Objects worth twice five hundred pounds in the aggregate werescattered about on the tables and in the unlocked cabinets all roundhim. Moody withdrew, without further hesitation, to order the lightrestorative prescribed for himself by Mr. Sweetsir.

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

  "Don't interrupt me," he said peevishly, catching the servant in the actof staring at him. "Put down the bottle and go!" Forbidden to look atMr. Sweetsir, the man's eyes as he left the gallery turned wonderinglytowards the famous landscape. And what did he see? He saw one toweringbig cloud in the sky that threatened rain, two withered mahogany-coloredtrees sorely in want of rain, a muddy road greatly the worse for rain,and a vagabond boy running home who was afraid of the rain. That was thepicture, to the footman's eye. He took a gloomy view of the state of Mr.Sweetsir's brains on his return to the servants' hall. "A slate loose,poor devil!" That was the footman's report of 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. He hadrecognized the voice of Alfred Hardyman saying, "Don't disturb LadyLydiard," and the voice of Moody answering, "I will just knock at thedoor of her Ladyship's room, sir; you will find Mr. Sweetsir in thepicture-gallery."

  The curtains over the archway parted, and disclosed the figure of a tallman, with a closely cropped head set a little stiffly on his shoulders.The immovable gravity of face and manner which every Englishman seems toacquire who lives constantly in the society of horses, was the gravitywhich this gentleman displayed as he entered the picture-gallery. He wasa finely made, sinewy man, with clearly cut, regular features. If he hadnot been affected with horses on the brain he would doubtless have beenpersonally popular with the women. As it was, the serene and hippicgloom of the handsome horse-breeder daunted the daughters of Eve,and they failed to make up their minds about the exact value of him,socially considered. Alfred Hardyman was nevertheless a remarkable manin his way. He had been offered the customary alternatives submittedto the younger sons of the nobility--the Church or the diplomaticservice--and had refused the one and the other. "I like horses," hesaid, "and I mean to get my living out of them. Don't talk to me aboutmy position in the world. Talk to my eldest brother, who gets the moneyand the title." Starting in life with these sensible views, and with asmall capital of five thousand pounds, Hardyman took his own place inthe sphere that was fitted for him. At the period of this narrativehe was already a rich man, and one of the greatest authorities onhorse-breeding in England. His prosperity made no change in him. He wasalways the same grave, quiet, obstinately resolute man--true to the fewfriends whom he admitted to his intimacy, and sincere to a fault in theexpression of his feelings among persons whom he distrusted or disliked.As he entered the picture-gallery and paused for a moment looking atFelix on the sofa, his large, cold, steady gray eyes rested on thelittle man with an indifference that just verged on contempt. Felix, onthe other hand, sprang to his feet with alert politeness and greeted hisfriend with exuberant cordiality.

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

  "You needn't trouble yourself to feel it," was the quietly-ungraciousanswer. "Lady Lydiard brings me here. I come to see the house--and thedog." He looked round the gallery in his gravely attentive way. "I don'tunderstand pictures," he remarked resignedly. "I shall go back to thedrawing-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?"

  "Next week _won't_ do."

  Mr. Felix Sweetsir cast one look at his friend. His friend was toointently occupied with the decorations of the drawing-room to notice thelook.

  "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 lookedagain at Hardyman and took his hat. "Make my apologies to my aunt," hesaid. "You must introduce yourself to her Ladyship. I can't wait hereany longer." He walked out of the room, having deliberately returned thecontemptuous indifference of Hardyman by a similar indifference on hisown side, at parting.

  Left by himself, Hardyman took a chair and glanced at the door which ledinto the boudoir. The steward had knocked at that door, had disappearedthrough it, and had not appeared again. How much longer was LadyLydiard's visitor to be left unnoticed in Lady Lydiard's house?

  As the question passed through his mind the boudoir door opened. Foronce in his life, Alfred Hardyman's composure deserted him. He startedto his feet, like an ordinary mortal taken completely by surprise.

  Instead of Mr. Moody, instead of Lady Lydiard, there appeared in theopen doorway a young woman in a state of embarrassment, who actuallyquickened the beat of Mr. Hardyman's heart the moment he set eyes onher. Was the person who produced this amazing impression at first sighta person of importance? Nothing of the sort. She was only "Isabel"surnamed "Miller." Even her name had nothing in it. Only "IsabelMiller!"

  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 wanted thatindispensable elegance of figure which is derived from slimness ofwaist and length of limb. The men (who were better acquainted with thesubject) looked at her figure from their point of view; and, finding itessentially embraceable, asked for nothing more. It might have been herbright complexion or it might have been the bold luster of her eyes (asthe 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 coulddispute. Her smile, beginning at her lips, flowed brightly and instantlyover her whole face. A delicious atmosphere of health, freshness, andgood humor seemed to radiate from her wherever she went and whatever shedid. 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, andher plump dimpled hands. Her merino dress, covering but not hiding thecharming outline of her bosom, matched the color of the cap-ribbons, andwas brightened by a white muslin apron coquettishly trimmed about thepockets, a gift from Lady Lydiard. Blushing and smiling, she let thedoor fall to behind her, and, shyly approaching the stranger, saidto 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 firstquestion. He smiled as he acknowledged that he was "Mr. Hardyman"--hesmiled as he offered her a chair.

  "No, thank you, sir," she said, with a quaintly pretty inclination ofher head. "I am only sent here to make her Ladyship's apologies. She hasput 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 ofany use, and so he had to hold the dog. That's all. We are very anxioussir, to know if the warm bath is the right thing. Please come into theroom and 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 of youth andbeauty, he is in no hurry to transfer his attention to a sick animalin a bath. Hardyman seized on the first excuse that he could devisefor keeping Isabel to himself--that is to say, for keeping her in thedrawing-room.

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

  Even his accent in speaking had altered to a certain degree. The quiet,dreary monotone in which he habitually spoke quickened a little underhis present excitement. As for Isabel, she was too deeply interestedin Tommie's welfare to suspect that she was being made the victim of astratagem. She left the door and returned 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? whatdiseases his father and mother had?--what--"

  Isabel's head began to turn giddy. "One thing at a time, sir!" sheinterposed, with a gesture of entreaty. "The dog sleeps on my bed, and Ihad a bad night with him, he disturbed me so, and I am afraid I am verystupid this morning. His name is Tommie. We are obliged to call him byit, because he won't answer to any other than the name he had when myLady bought him. But we spell it with an _i e_ at the end, which makesit less vulgar than Tommy with a _y_. I am very sorry, sir--I forgetwhat else you wanted to know. Please to come in here and my Lady willtell you everything."

  She tried to get back to the door of the boudoir. Hardyman, feastinghis eyes on the pretty, changeful face that looked up at him with suchinnocent confidence in his authority, drew her away from the door by theone means at his disposal. He returned to his questions about Tommie.

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

  Isabel turned back again from the door. To describe Tommie was a laborof love. "He is the most beautiful dog in the world!" the girl began,with kindling eyes. "He has the most exquisite white curly hair and twolight brown patches on his back--and, oh! _such_ lovely dark eyes!They call him a Scotch terrier. When he is well his appetite is trulywonderful--nothing comes amiss to him, sir, from pate de foie gras topotatoes. He has his enemies, poor dear, though you wouldn't think it.People who won't put up with being bitten by him (what shocking tempersone does meet with, to be sure!) call him a mongrel. Isn't it a shame?Please come in and see him, sir; my Lady will be tired of waiting."

  Another journey to the door followed those words, checked instantly by aserious objection.

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

  Isabel returned once more, feeling that it was really serious this time.Her gravity was even more charming than her gayety. As she liftedher face to him, with large solemn eyes, expressive of her sense ofresponsibility, Hardyman would have given every horse in his stables tohave had the privilege of taking her in his arms and kissing her.

  "Tommie has the temper of an angel with the people he likes," she said."When he bites, it generally means that he objects to strangers. Heloves my Lady, and he loves Mr. Moody, and he loves me, and--and I thinkthat's all. This way, sir, if you please, I am sure I heard my Ladycall."

  "No," said Hardyman, in his immovably obstinate way. "Nobody called.About this dog's temper? Doesn't he take to any strangers? What sort ofpeople does he bite in general?"

  Isabel's pretty lips began to curl upward at the corners in a quaintsmile. Hardyman's last imbecile question had opened her eyes to thetrue state of the case. Still, Tommie's future was in this strangegentleman's hands; she felt bound to consider that. And, moreover, itwas no everyday event, in Isabel's experience, to fascinate a famouspersonage, who was also a magnificent and perfectly dressed man. She ranthe risk of wasting another minute or two, and went on with the memoirsof Tommie.

  "I must own, sir," she resumed, "that he behaves a littleungratefully--even to strangers who take an interest in him. When hegets lost in the streets (which is very often), he sits down on thepavement and howls till he collects a pitying crowd round him; and whenthey try to read his name and address on his collar he snaps at them.The servants generally find him and bring him back; and as soon as hegets home he turns round on the doorstep and snaps at the servants. Ithink it must be his fun. You should see him sitting up in his chair atdinner-time, waiting to be helped, with his fore paws on the edge of thetable, like the hands 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 ofthem say it's bronchitis, and some say it's his liver. Only yesterday Itook him to the front door to give him a little air, and he stood stillon the pavement, quite stupefied. For the first time in his life, hesnapped at nobody who went by; and, oh, dear, he hadn't even the heartto smell a lamp-post!"

  Isabel had barely stated this last afflicting circumstance whenthe memoirs of Tommie were suddenly cut short by the voice of LadyLydiard--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 passagewhich led to the boudoir "I shall be blamed, sir," she said, "if youdon't go in."

  This statement of the case left Hardyman no alternative. He presentedhimself 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 producedon Hardyman. Her vanity, it is not to be denied, was flattered by hisadmiration--he was so grand and so tall, and he had such fine largeeyes. The girl looked prettier than ever as she stood with her headdown and her color heightened, smiling to herself. A clock on thechimney-piece striking the half-hour roused her. She cast one look atthe glass, as she passed it, and went to the table at which Lady Lydiardhad been writing.

  Methodical Mr. Moody, in submitting to be employed as bath-attendantupon Tommie, had not forgotten the interests of his mistress. Hereminded her Ladyship that she had left her letter, with a bank-noteinclosed in it, unsealed. Absorbed in the dog, Lady Lydiard answered,"Isabel is doing nothing, let Isabel seal it. Show Mr. Hardyman inhere," she continued, turning to Isabel, "and then seal a letter ofmine 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 chargeof it when her Ladyship has done with me."

  Such were the special instructions which now detained Isabel in thedrawing-room. She lighted the taper, and closed and sealed the openenvelope, without feeling curiosity enough even to look at the address.Mr. Hardyman was the uppermost subject in her thoughts. Leaving thesealed letter on the table, she returned to the fireplace, and studiedher own charming face attentively in the looking-glass. The timepassed--and Isabel's reflection was still the subject of Isabel'scontemplation. "He must see many beautiful ladies," she thought,veering backward and forward between pride and humility. "I wonder whathe sees in Me?"

  The clock struck the hour. Almost at the same moment the boudoir-dooropened, and Robert Moody, released at last from attendance on Tommie,entered the drawing-room.