She had always behaved honestly to him; she had never encouraged him to hope that his love for her had the faintest prospect of being returned.  Yet, knowing, as she did, that her conduct was blameless so far, there were nevertheless perverse sympathies in her which took his part.  In the wakeful hours of the night there were whispering voices in her which said:  “Think of Moody!” Had there been a growing kindness towards this good friend in her heart, of which she herself was not aware?  She tried to detect it—­to weigh it for what it was really worth.  But it lay too deep to be discovered and estimated, if it did really exist—­if it had any sounder origin than her own morbid fancy.  In the broad light of day, in the little bustling duties of life, she forgot it again.  She could think of what she ought to wear on the wedding day; she could even try privately how her new signature, “Isabel Hardyman,” would look when she had the right to use it.  On the whole, it may be said that the time passed smoothly—­with some occasional checks and drawbacks, which were the more easily endured seeing that they took their rise in Isabel’s own conduct.  Compliant as she was in general, there were two instances, among others, in which her resolution to take her own way was not to be overcome.  She refused to write either to Moody or to Lady Lydiard informing them of her engagement; and she steadily disapproved of Miss Pink’s policy of concealment, in the matter of the robbery at Lady Lydiard’s house.  Her aunt could only secure her as a passive accomplice by stating family considerations in the strongest possible terms.  “If the disgrace was confined to you, my dear, I might leave you to decide.  But I am involved in it, as your nearest relative; and, what is more, even the sacred memories of your father and mother might feel the slur cast on them.”  This exaggerated language—­like all exaggerated language, a mischievous weapon in the arsenal of weakness and prejudice—­had its effect on Isabel.  Reluctantly and sadly, she consented to be silent.

Miss Pink wrote word of the engagement to Moody first; reserving to a later day the superior pleasure of informing Lady Lydiard of the very event which that audacious woman had declared to be impossible.  To her aunt’s surprise, just as she was about to close the envelope Isabel stepped forward, and inconsistently requested leave to add a postscript to the very letter which she had refused to write!  Miss Pink was not even permitted to see the postscript.  Isabel secured the envelope the moment she laid down her pen, and retired to her room with a headache (which was heartache in disguise) for the rest of the day.

While the question of marriage was still in debate, an event occurred which exercised a serious influence on Hardyman’s future plans.