The studiously considerate and delicate tone in which these lines were written had an effect on Isabel which was exactly the opposite of the effect intended by the writer.  She burst into a passionate fit of tears; and in the safe solitude of her own room, the despairing words escaped her, “I wish I had died before I met with Alfred Hardyman!”

As the days wore on, disappointments and difficulties seemed by a kind of fatality to beset the contemplated announcement of the marriage.

Miss Pink’s asthma, developed by the unfavorable weather, set the doctor’s art at defiance, and threatened to keep that unfortunate lady a prisoner in her room on the day of the party.  Hardyman’s invitations were in some cases refused; and in others accepted by husbands with excuses for the absence of their wives.  His elder brother made an apology for himself as well as for his wife.  Felix Sweetsir wrote, “With pleasure, dear Alfred, if my health permits me to leave the house.”  Lady Lydiard, invited at Miss Pink’s special request, sent no reply.  The one encouraging circumstance was the silence of Lady Rotherfield.  So long as her son received no intimation to the contrary, it was a sign that Lord Rotherfield permitted his wife to sanction the marriage by her presence.

Hardyman wrote to his Imperial correspondent, engaging to leave England on the earliest possible day, and asking to be pardoned if he failed to express himself more definitely, in consideration of domestic affairs, which it was necessary to settle before he started for the Continent.  I f there should not be time enough to write again, he promised to send a telegraphic announcement of his departure.  Long afterwards, Hardyman remembered the misgivings that had troubled him when he wrote that letter.  In the rough draught of it, he had mentioned, as his excuse for not being yet certain of his own movements, that he expected to be immediately married.  In the fair copy, the vague foreboding of some accident to come was so painfully present to his mind, that he struck out the words which referred to his marriage, and substituted the designedly indefinite phrase, “domestic affairs.”

CHAPTER XX.

THE day of the garden party arrived.  There was no rain; but the air was heavy, and the sky was overcast by lowering clouds.

Some hours before the guests were expected, Isabel arrived alone at the farm, bearing the apologies of unfortunate Miss Pink, still kept a prisoner in her bed-chamber by the asthma.  In the confusion produced at the cottage by the preparations for entertaining the company, the one room in which Hardyman could receive Isabel with the certainty of not being interrupted was the smoking-room.  To this haven of refuge he led her—­still reserved and silent, still not restored to her customary spirits.  “If any visitors come before the time,” Hardyman said to his servant, “tell them I am engaged at the stables.  I must have an hour’s quiet talk with you,” he continued, turning to Isabel, “or I shall be in too bad a temper to receive my guests with common politeness.  The worry of giving this party is not to be told in words.  I almost wish I had been content with presenting you to my mother, and had let the rest of my acquaintances go to the devil.”