“Pardon me, Lady Lydiard,” he said, “you are speaking of a subject which has been already sufficiently discussed between Miss Pink and myself.  I think we shall do better not to dwell uselessly on past events, but to direct our attention to the future.  We are all equally satisfied of the complete rectitude of Miss Isabel’s conduct, and we are all equally interested in the vindication of her good name.”

Whether these temperate words would of themselves have exercised the pacifying influence at which Mr. Troy aimed may be doubtful.  But, as he ceased speaking, a powerful auxiliary appeared in the shape of the beer.  Lady Lydiard seized on the jug, and filled the tumbler for herself with an unsteady hand.  Miss Pink, trembling for the integrity of her carpet, and scandalized at seeing a peeress drinking beer like a washer-woman, forgot the sharp answer that was just rising to her lips when the lawyer interfered.  “Small!” said Lady Lydiard, setting down the empty tumbler, and referring to the quality of the beer.  “But very pleasant and refreshing.  What’s the servant’s name?  Susan?  Well, Susan, I was dying of thirst and you have saved my life.  You can leave the jug—­I dare say I shall empty it before I go.”

Mr. Troy, watching Miss Pink’s face, saw that it was time to change the subject again.

“Did you notice the old village, Lady Lydiard, on your way here?” he asked.  “The artists consider it one of the most picturesque places in England.”

“I noticed that it was a very dirty village,” Lady Lydiard answered, still bent on making herself disagreeable to Miss Pink.  “The artists may say what they please; I see nothing to admire in rotten cottages, and bad drainage, and ignorant people.  I suppose the neighborhood has its advantages.  It looks dull enough, to my mind.”

Isabel had hitherto modestly restricted her exertions to keeping Tommie quiet on her lap.  Like Mr. Troy, she occasionally looked at her aunt—­and she now made a timid attempt to defend the neighborhood as a duty that she owed to Miss Pink.

“Oh, my Lady! don’t say it’s a dull neighborhood,” she pleaded.  “There are such pretty walks all round us.  And, when you get to the hills, the view is beautiful.”

Lady Lydiard’s answer to this was a little masterpiece of good-humored contempt.  She patted Isabel’s cheek, and said, “Pooh!  Pooh!”

“Your Ladyship does not admire the beauties of Nature,” Miss Pink remarked, with a compassionate smile.  “As we get older, no doubt our sight begins to fail—­”

“And we leave off canting about the beauties of Nature,” added Lady Lydiard.  “I hate the country.  Give me London, and the pleasures of society.”

“Come! come!  Do the country justice, Lady Lydiard!” put in peace-making Mr. Troy.  “There is plenty of society to be found out of London—­as good society as the world can show.”

“The sort of society,” added Miss Pink, “which is to be found, for example, in this neighborhood.  Her Ladyship is evidently not aware that persons of distinction surround us, whichever way we turn.  I may instance among others, the Honorable Mr. Hardyman—­”