Lady Lydiard, in the act of pouring out a second glassful of beer, suddenly set down the jug.

“Who is that you’re talking of, Miss Pink?”

“I am talking of our neighbor, Lady Lydiard—­the Honorable Mr. Hardyman.”

“Do you mean Alfred Hardyman—­the man who breeds the horses?”

“The distinguished gentleman who owns the famous stud-farm,” said Miss Pink, correcting the bluntly-direct form in which Lady Lydiard had put her question.

“Is he in the habit of visiting here?” the old lady inquired, with a sudden appearance of anxiety.  “Do you know him?”

“I had the honor of being introduced to Mr. Hardyman at our last flower show,” Miss Pink replied.  “He has not yet favored me with a visit.”

Lady Lydiard’s anxiety appeared to be to some extent relieved.

“I knew that Hardyman’s farm was in this county,” she said; “but I had no notion that it was in the neighborhood of South Morden.  How far away is he—­ten or a dozen miles, eh?”

“Not more than three miles,” answered Miss Pink.  “We consider him quite a near neighbor of ours.”

Renewed anxiety showed itself in Lady Lydiard.  She looked round sharply at Isabel.  The girl’s head was bent so low over the rough head of the dog that her face was almost entirely concealed from view.  So far as appearances went, she seemed to be entirely absorbed in fondling Tommie.  Lady Lydiard roused her with a tap of the green fan.

“Take Tommie out, Isabel, for a run in the garden,” she said.  “He won’t sit still much longer—­and he may annoy Miss Pink.  Mr. Troy, will you kindly help Isabel to keep my ill-trained dog in order?”

Mr. Troy got on his feet, and, not very willingly, followed Isabel out of the room.  “They will quarrel now, to a dead certainty!” he thought to himself, as he closed the door.  “Have you any idea of what this means?” he said to his companion, as he joined her in the hall.  “What has Mr. Hardyman done to excite all this interest in him?”

Isabel’s guilty color rose.  She knew perfectly well that Hardyman’s unconcealed admiration of her was the guiding motive of Lady Lydiard’s inquiries.  If she had told the truth, Mr. Troy would have unquestionably returned to the drawing-room, with or without an acceptable excuse for intruding himself.  But Isabel was a woman; and her answer, it is needless to say, was “I don’t know, I’m sure.”

In the mean time, the interview between the two ladies began in a manner which would have astonished Mr. Troy—­they were both silent.  For once in her life Lady Lydiard was considering what she should say, before she said it.  Miss Pink, on her side, naturally waited to hear what object her Ladyship had in view—­waited, until her small reserve of patience gave way.  Urged by irresistible curiosity, she spoke first.

“Have you anything to say to me in private?” she asked.

Lady Lydiard had not got to the end of her reflections.  She said “Yes!”—­and she said no more.