Mr. Troy took refuge in dumb diplomacy—­he made a low bow.  It might have meant that he believed Isabel, or it might have meant that he modestly withdrew his own opinion into the background.  Lady Lydiard did not condescend to inquire what it meant.

“The sooner we bring this painful scene to an end the better,” she said.  “I shall be glad to avail myself of your professional assistance, Mr. Troy, within certain limits.  Outside of my house, I beg that you will spare no trouble in tracing the lost money to the person who has really stolen it.  Inside of my house, I must positively request that the disappearance of the note may never be alluded to, in any way whatever, until your inquiries have been successful in discovering the thief.  In the meanwhile, Mrs. Tollmidge and her family must not be sufferers by my loss:  I shall pay the money again.”  She paused, and pressed Isabel’s hand with affectionate fervor.  “My child,” she said, “one last word to you, and I have done.  You remain here, with my trust in you, and my love for you, absolutely unshaken.  When you think of what has been said here to-day, never forget that.”

Isabel bent her head, and kissed the kind hand that still held hers.  The high spirit that was in her, inspired by Lady Lydiard’s example, rose equal to the dreadful situation in which she was placed.

“No, my Lady,” she said calmly and sadly; “it cannot be.  What this gentleman has said of me is not to be denied—­the appearances are against me.  The letter was open, and I was alone in the room with it, and Mr. Moody told me that a valuable inclosure was inside it.  Dear and kind mistress!  I am not fit to be a member of your household, I am not worthy to live with the honest people who serve you, while my innocence is in doubt.  It is enough for me now that you don’t doubt it.  I can wait patiently, after that, for the day that gives me back my good name.  Oh, my Lady, don’t cry about it!  Pray, pray don’t cry!”

Lady Lydiard’s self-control failed her for the first time.  Isabel’s courage had made Isabel dearer to her than ever.  She sank into a chair, and covered her face with her handkerchief.  Mr. Troy turned aside abruptly, and examined a Japanese vase, without any idea in his mind of what he was looking at.  Lady Lydiard had gravely misjudged him in believing him to be a heartless man.

Isabel followed the lawyer, and touched him gently on the arm to rouse his attention.

“I have one relation living, sir—­an aunt—­who will receive me if I go to her,” she said simply.  “Is there any harm in my going?  Lady Lydiard will give you the address when you want me.  Spare her Ladyship, sir, all the pain and trouble that you can.”

At last the heart that was in Mr. Troy asserted itself.  “You are a fine creature!” he said, with a burst of enthusiasm.  “I agree with Lady Lydiard—­I believe you are innocent, too; and I will leave no effort untried to find the proof of it.”  He turned aside again, and had another look at the Japanese vase.