Isabel, still resting her hand on Robert’s arm, felt it tremble a little as Hardyman made this last inquiry.  If she had been speaking to one of her equals she would have known how to dispose of the question without directly answering it.  But what could she say to the magnificent gentleman on the stately horse?  He had only to send his servant into the village to ask who the young lady from London was staying with, and the answer, in a dozen mouths at least, would direct him to her aunt.  She cast one appealing look at Moody and pronounced the distinguished name of Miss Pink.

“Miss Pink?” Hardyman repeated.  “Surely I know Miss Pink?” (He had not the faintest remembrances of her.) “Where did I meet her last?” (He ran over in his memory the different local festivals at which strangers had been introduced to him.) “Was it at the archery meeting? or at the grammar-school when the prizes were given?  No?  It must have been at the flower show, then, surely?”

It had been at the flower show.  Isabel had heard it from Miss Pink fifty times at least, and was obliged to admit it now.

“I am quite ashamed of never having called,” Hardyman proceeded.  “The fact is, I have so much to do.  I am a bad one at paying visits.  Are you on your way home?  Let me follow you and make my apologies personally to Miss Pink.”

Moody looked at Isabel.  It was only a momentary glance, but she perfectly understood it.

“I am afraid, sir, my aunt cannot have the honor of seeing you to-day,” she said.

Hardyman was all compliance.  He smiled and patted his horse’s neck.  “To-morrow, then,” he said.  “My compliments, and I will call in the afternoon.  Let me see:  Miss Pink lives at—?” He waited, as if he expected Isabel to assist his treacherous memory once more.  She hesitated again.  Hardyman looked round at his groom.  The groom could find out the address, even if he did not happen to know it already.  Besides, there was the little row of houses visible at the further end of the road.  Isabel pointed to the villas, as a necessary concession to good manners, before the groom could anticipate her.  “My aunt lives there, sir; at the house called The Lawn.”

“Ah! to be sure!” said Hardyman.  “I oughtn’t to have wanted reminding; but I have so many things to think of at the farm.  And I am afraid I must be getting old—­my memory isn’t as good as it was.  I am so glad to have seen you, Miss Isabel.  You and your aunt must come and look at my horses.  Do you like horses?  Are you fond of riding?  I have a quiet roan mare that is used to carrying ladies; she would be just the thing for you.  Did I beg you to give my best compliments to your aunt?  Yes?  How well you are looking! our air here agrees with you.  I hope I haven’t kept you standing too long?  I didn’t think of it in the pleasure of meeting you.  Good-by, Miss Isabel; good-by, till to-morrow!”

He took off his hat to Isabel, nodded to Moody, and pursued his way to the farm.