Having expressed her sentiments, distributed her greetings, and defended her dog—­all, as it were, in one breath—­Lady Lydiard sat down by Isabel’s side, and opened a large green fan that hung at her girdle.  “You have no idea, Miss Pink, how fat people suffer in hot weather,” said the old lady, using her fan vigorously.

Miss Pink’s eyes dropped modestly to the ground—­“fat” was such a coarse word to use, if a lady must speak of her own superfluous flesh!  “May I offer some refreshment?” Miss Pink asked, mincingly.  “A cup of tea?”

Lady Lydiard shook her head.

“A glass of water?”

Lady Lydiard declined this last hospitable proposal with an exclamation of disgust.  “Have you got any beer?” she inquired.

“I beg your Ladyship’s pardon,” said Miss Pink, doubting the evidence of her own ears.  “Did you say—­beer?”

Lady Lydiard gesticulated vehemently with her fan.  “Yes, to be sure!  Beer! beer!”

Miss Pink rose, with a countenance expressive of genteel disgust, and rang the bell.  “I think you have beer downstairs, Susan?” she said, when the maid appeared at the door.

“Yes, miss.”

“A glass of beer for Lady Lydiard,” said Miss Pink—­under protest.

“Bring it in a jug,” shouted her Ladyship, as the maid left the room.  “I like to froth it up for myself,” she continued, addressing Miss Pink.  “Isabel sometimes does it for me, when she is at home—­don’t you, my dear?”

Miss Pink had been waiting her opportunity to assert her own claim to the possession of her own niece, from the time when Lady Lydiard had coolly declared her intention of taking Isabel back with her.  The opportunity now presented itself.

“Your Ladyship will pardon me,” she said, “if I remark that my niece’s home is under my humble roof.  I am properly sensible, I hope, of your kindness to Isabel, but while she remains the object of a disgraceful suspicion she remains with me.”

Lady Lydiard closed her fan with an angry snap.

“You are completely mistaken, Miss Pink.  You may not mean it—­but you speak most unjustly if you say that your niece is an object of suspicion to me, or to anybody in my house.”

Mr. Troy, quietly listening up to this point now interposed to stop the discussion before it could degenerate into a personal quarrel.  His keen observation, aided by his accurate knowledge of his client’s character, had plainly revealed to him what was passing in Lady Lydiard’s mind.  She had entered the house, feeling (perhaps unconsciously) a jealousy of Miss Pink, as her predecessor in Isabel’s affections, and as the natural protectress of the girl under existing circumstances.  Miss Pink’s reception of her dog had additionally irritated the old lady.  She had taken a malicious pleasure in shocking the schoolmistress’s sense of propriety—­and she was now only too ready to proceed to further extremities on the delicate question of Isabel’s justification for leaving her house.  For Isabel’s own sake, therefore—­to say nothing of other reasons—­it was urgently desirable to keep the peace between the two ladies.  With this excellent object in view, Mr. Troy seized his opportunity of striking into the conversation for the first time.