Moody’s worn white face flushed a little.  “No, my Lady,” he answered, “I can’t hear you say that!  Isabel would not have engaged herself to Mr. Hardyman unless she had been fond of him—­as fond, I dare say, as I once hoped she might be of me.  It’s a hard thing to confess that; but I do confess it, in justice to her—­God bless her!”

The generosity that spoke in those simple words touched the finest sympathies in Lady Lydiard’s nature.  “Give me your hand,” she said, with her own generous spirit kindling in her eyes.  “You have a great heart, Moody.  Isabel Miller is a fool for not marrying you—­and one day she will know it!”

Before a word more could pass between them, Hardyman’s voice was audible on the other side of the shrubbery, calling irritably to his servant to find Lady Lydiard.

Moody retired to the further end of the walk, while Lady Lydiard advanced in the opposite direction, so as to meet Hardyman at the entrance to the shrubbery.  He bowed stiffly, and begged to know why her Ladyship had honored him with a visit.

Lady Lydiard replied without noticing the coldness of her reception.

“I have not been very well, Mr. Hardyman, or you would have seen me before this.  My only object in presenting myself here is to make my excuses personally for having written of you in terms which expressed a doubt of your honor.  I have done you an injustice, and I beg you to forgive me.”

Hardyman acknowledged this frank apology as unreservedly as it had been offered to him.  “Say no more, Lady Lydiard.  And let me hope, now you are here, that you will honor my little party with your presence.”

Lady Lydiard gravely stated her reasons for not accepting the invitation.

“I disapprove so strongly of unequal marriages,” she said, walking on slowly towards the cottage, “that I cannot, in common consistency, become one of your guests.  I shall always feel interested in Isabel Miller’s welfare; and I can honestly say I shall be glad if your married life proves that my old-fashioned prejudices are without justification in your case.  Accept my thanks for your invitation; and let me hope that my plain speaking has not offended you.”

She bowed, and looked about her for Tommie before she advanced to the carriage waiting for her at the gate.  In the surprise of seeing Moody she had forgotten to look back for the dog when she entered the shrubbery.  She now called to him, and blew the whistle at her watch-chain.  Not a sign of Tommie was to be seen.  Hardyman instantly directed the servants to search in the cottage and out of the cottage for the dog.  The order was obeyed with all needful activity and intelligence, and entirely without success.  For the time being at any rate, Tommie was lost.

Hardyman promised to have the dog looked for in every part of the farm, and to send him back in the care of one of his own men.  With these polite assurances Lady Lydiard was obliged to be satisfied.  She drove away in a very despondent frame of mind.  “First Isabel, and now Tommie,” thought her Ladyship.  “I am losing the only companions who made life tolerable to me.”