Miss Pink anticipated the coming disclosure.  “You need not trouble yourself, sir, to mention your client’s name,” she said.

“My client,” persisted Mr. Troy, “loves Miss Isabel dearly.”

“That is a matter of opinion,” Miss Pink interposed.

“And believes in Miss Isabel’s innocence,” proceeded the irrepressible lawyer, “as firmly as you believe in it yourself.”

Miss Pink (being human) had a temper; and Mr. Troy had found his way to it.

“If Lady Lydiard believes in my niece’s innocence,” said Miss Pink, suddenly sitting bolt upright in her chair, “why has my niece been compelled, in justice to herself, to leave Lady Lydiard’s house?”

“You will admit, madam,” Mr. Troy answered cautiously, “that we are all of us liable, in this wicked world, to be the victims of appearances.  Your niece is a victim—­an innocent victim.  She wisely withdraws from Lady Lydiard’s house until appearances are proved to be false and her position is cleared up.”

Miss Pink had her reply ready.  “That is simply acknowledging, in other words, that my niece is suspected.  I am only a woman, Mr. Troy—­but it is not quite so easy to mislead me as you seem to suppose.”

Mr. Troy’s temper was admirably trained.  But it began to acknowledge that Miss Pink’s powers of irritation could sting to some purpose.

“No intention of misleading you, madam, has ever crossed my mind,” he rejoined warmly.  “As for your niece, I can tell you this.  In all my experience of Lady Lydiard, I never saw her so distressed as she was when Miss Isabel left the house!”

“Indeed!” said Miss Pink, with an incredulous smile.  “In my rank of life, when we feel distressed about a person, we do our best to comfort that person by a kind letter or an early visit.  But then I am not a lady of title.”

“Lady Lydiard engaged herself to call on Miss Isabel in my hearing,” said Mr. Troy.  “Lady Lydiard is the most generous woman living!”

“Lady Lydiard is here!” cried a joyful voice on the other side of the door.

At the same moment, Isabel burst into the room in a state of excitement which actually ignored the formidable presence of Miss Pink.  “I beg your pardon, aunt!  I was upstairs at the window, and I saw the carriage stop at the gate.  And Tommie has come, too!  The darling saw me at the window!” cried the poor girl, her eyes sparkling with delight as a perfect explosion of barking made itself heard over the tramp of horses’ feet and the crash of carriage wheels outside.

Miss Pink rose slowly, with a dignity that looked capable of adequately receiving—­not one noble lady only, but the whole peerage of England.

“Control yourself, dear Isabel,” she said.  “No well-bred young lady permits herself to become unduly excited.  Stand by my side—­a little behind me.”