CHAPTER XX.
THE day of the garden party arrived. There was no rain; but the air washeavy, and the sky was overcast by lowering clouds.
Some hours before the guests were expected, Isabel arrived alone atthe farm, bearing the apologies of unfortunate Miss Pink, still kept aprisoner in her bed-chamber by the asthma. In the confusion produced atthe cottage by the preparations for entertaining the company, the oneroom in which Hardyman could receive Isabel with the certainty of notbeing interrupted was the smoking-room. To this haven of refuge he ledher--still reserved and silent, still not restored to her customaryspirits. "If any visitors come before the time," Hardyman said to hisservant, "tell them I am engaged at the stables. I must have an hour'squiet talk with you," he continued, turning to Isabel, "or I shall be intoo bad a temper to receive my guests with common politeness. The worryof giving this party is not to be told in words. I almost wish I hadbeen content with presenting you to my mother, and had let the rest ofmy acquaintances go to the devil."
A quiet half hour passed; and the first visitor, a stranger to theservants, appeared at the cottage-gate. He was a middle-aged man, andhe had no wish to disturb Mr. Hardyman. "I will wait in the grounds," hesaid, "and trouble nobody." The middle-aged man, who expressed himselfin these modest terms, was Robert Moody.
Five minutes later, a carriage drove up to the gate. An elderly lady gotout of it, followed by a fat white Scotch terrier, who growled at everystranger within his reach. It is needless to introduce Lady Lydiard andTommie.
Informed that Mr. Hardyman was at the stables, Lady Lydiard gave theservant her card. "Take that to your master, and say I won't detainhim five minutes." With these words, her Ladyship sauntered into thegrounds. She looked about her with observant eyes; not only noticingthe tent which had been set up on the grass to accommodate the expectedguests, but entering it, and looking at the waiters who were engagedin placing the luncheon on the table. Returning to the outer world, shenext remarked that Mr. Hardyman's lawn was in very bad order. Barrensun-dried patches, and little holes and crevices opened here andthere by the action of the summer heat, announced that the lawn, likeeverything else at the farm, had been neglected, in the exclusiveattention paid to the claims of the horses. Reaching a shrubbery whichbounded one side of the grounds next, her Ladyship became aware of a manslowly approaching her, to all appearance absorbed in thought. Theman drew a little nearer. She lifted her glasses to her eyes andrecognized--Moody.
No embarrassment was produced on either side by this unexpected meeting.Lady Lydiard had, not long since, sent to ask her former steward tovisit her; regretting, in her warm-hearted way, the terms on which theyhad separated, and wishing to atone for the harsh language that hadescaped her at their parting interview. In the friendly talk whichfollowed the reconciliation, Lady Lydiard not only heard the newsof Moody's pecuniary inheritance--but, noticing the change in hisappearance for the worse, contrived to extract from him the confessionof his ill-starred passion for Isabel. To discover him now, after allthat he had acknowledged, walking about the grounds at Hardyman's farm,took her Ladyship completely by surprise. "Good Heavens!" she exclaimed,in her loudest tones, "what are you doing here?"
"You mentioned Mr. Hardyman's garden party, my Lady, when I had thehonor of waiting on you," Moody answered. "Thinking over it afterward,it seemed the fittest occasion I could find for making a little weddingpresent to Miss Isabel. Is there any harm in my asking Mr. Hardyman tolet me put the present on her plate, so that she may see it when shesits down to luncheon? If your Ladyship thinks so, I will go awaydirectly, and send the gift by post."
Lady Lydiard looked at him attentively. "You don't despise the girl,"she asked, "for selling herself for rank and money? I do--I can tellyou!"
Moody's worn white face flushed a little. "No, my Lady," he answered,"I can't hear you say that! Isabel would not have engaged herself to Mr.Hardyman unless she had been fond of him--as fond, I dare say, as I oncehoped she might be of me. It's a hard thing to confess that; but I doconfess it, in justice to her--God bless her!"
The generosity that spoke in those simple words touched the finestsympathies in Lady Lydiard's nature. "Give me your hand," she said, withher own generous spirit kindling in her eyes. "You have a great heart,Moody. Isabel Miller is a fool for not marrying _you_--and one day shewill know it!"
Before a word more could pass between them, Hardyman's voice was audibleon the other side of the shrubbery, calling irritably to his servant tofind Lady Lydiard.
Moody retired to the further end of the walk, while Lady Lydiardadvanced in the opposite direction, so as to meet Hardyman at theentrance to the shrubbery. He bowed stiffly, and begged to know why herLadyship had honored him with a visit.
Lady Lydiard replied without noticing the coldness of her reception.
"I have not been very well, Mr. Hardyman, or you would have seen mebefore this. My only object in presenting myself here is to make myexcuses personally for having written of you in terms which expresseda doubt of your honor. I have done you an injustice, and I beg you toforgive me."
Hardyman acknowledged this frank apology as unreservedly as it had beenoffered to him. "Say no more, Lady Lydiard. And let me hope, now you arehere, that you will honor my little party with your presence."
Lady Lydiard gravely stated her reasons for not accepting theinvitation.
"I disapprove so strongly of unequal marriages," she said, walkingon slowly towards the cottage, "that I cannot, in common consistency,become one of your guests. I shall always feel interested in IsabelMiller's welfare; and I can honestly say I shall be glad if your marriedlife proves that my old-fashioned prejudices are without justificationin your case. Accept my thanks for your invitation; and let me hope thatmy plain speaking has not offended you."
She bowed, and looked about her for Tommie before she advanced to thecarriage waiting for her at the gate. In the surprise of seeingMoody she had forgotten to look back for the dog when she enteredthe shrubbery. She now called to him, and blew the whistle at herwatch-chain. Not a sign of Tommie was to be seen. Hardyman instantlydirected the servants to search in the cottage and out of the cottagefor the dog. The order was obeyed with all needful activity andintelligence, and entirely without success. For the time being at anyrate, Tommie was lost.
Hardyman promised to have the dog looked for in every part of the farm,and to send him back in the care of one of his own men. With thesepolite assurances Lady Lydiard was obliged to be satisfied. She droveaway in a very despondent frame of mind. "First Isabel, and now Tommie,"thought her Ladyship. "I am losing the only companions who made lifetolerable to me."
Returning from the garden gate, after taking leave of his visitor,Hardyman received from his servant a handful of letters which had justarrived for him. Walking slowly over the lawn as he opened them, hefound nothing but excuses for the absence of guests who had alreadyaccepted their invitations. He had just thrust the letters into hispocket, when he heard footsteps behind him, and, looking round, foundhimself confronted by Moody.
"Hullo! have you come to lunch?" Hardyman asked, roughly.
"I have come here, sir, with a little gift for Miss Isabel, in honor ofher marriage," Moody answered quietly, "and I ask your permission toput it on the table, so that she may see it when your guests sit down toluncheon."
He opened a jeweler's case as he spoke, containing a plain gold braceletwith an inscription engraved on the inner side: "To Miss Isabel Miller,with the sincere good wishes of Robert Moody."
Plain as it was, the design of the bracelet was unusually beautiful.Hardyman had noticed Moody's agitation on the day when he had met Isabelnear her aunt's house, and had drawn his own conclusions from it. Hisface darkened with a momentary jealousy as he looked at the bracelet."All right, old fellow!" he said, with contemptuous familiarity. "Don'tbe modest. Wait and give it to her with your own hand."
"No, sir," said Moody "I would rather leave it, if you please, to speakfor itself."
Hardyman under
stood the delicacy of feeling which dictated those words,and, without well knowing why, resented it. He was on the point ofspeaking, under the influence of this unworthy motive, when Isabel'svoice reached his ears, calling to him from the cottage.
Moody's face contracted with a sudden expression of pain as he, too,recognized the voice. "Don't let me detain you, sir," he said, sadly."Good-morning!"
Hardyman left him without ceremony. Moody, slowly following, entered thetent. All the preparations for the luncheon had been completed; nobodywas there. The places to be occupied by the guests were indicatedby cards bearing their names. Moody found Isabel's card, and put hisbracelet inside the folded napkin on her plate. For a while he stoodwith his hand on the table, thinking. The temptation to communicate oncemore with Isabel before he lost her forever, was fast getting the betterof his powers of resistance.
"If I could persuade her to write a word to say she liked her bracelet,"he thought, "it would be a comfort when I go back to my solitary life."He tore a leaf out of his pocket book and wrote on it, "One line to sayyou accept my gift and my good wishes. Put it under the cushion of yourchair, and I shall find it when the company have left the tent." Heslipped the paper into the case which held the bracelet, and instead ofleaving the farm as he had intended, turned back to the shelter of theshrubbery.
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