THE day of the garden party arrived. There was no rain; but theair was heavy, and the sky was overcast by lowering clouds.

Some hours before the guests were expected, Isabel arrived aloneat the farm, bearing the apologies of unfortunate Miss Pink,still kept a prisoner in her bed-chamber by the asthma. In theconfusion produced at the cottage by the preparations forentertaining the company, the one room in which Hardyman couldreceive Isabel with the certainty of not being interrupted wasthe smoking-room. To this haven of refuge he led her--stillreserved and silent, still not restored to her customary spirits."If any visitors come before the time," Hardyman said to hisservant, "tell them I am engaged at the stables. I must have anhour's quiet talk with you," he continued, turning to Isabel, "orI shall be in too bad a temper to receive my guests with commonpoliteness. The worry of giving this party is not to be told inwords. I almost wish I had been content with presenting you to mymother, and had let the rest of my acquaintances go to thedevil."

A quiet half hour passed; and the first visitor, a stranger tothe servants, appeared at the cottage-gate. He was a middle-agedman, and he had no wish to disturb Mr. Hardyman. "I will wait inthe grounds," he said, "and trouble nobody." The middle-aged man,who expressed himself in these modest terms, was Robert Moody.

Five minutes later, a carriage drove up to the gate. An elderlylady got out of it, followed by a fat white Scotch terrier, whogrowled at every stranger within his reach. It is needless tointroduce Lady Lydiard and Tommie.

Informed that Mr. Hardyman was at the stables, Lady Lydiard gavethe servant her card. "Take that to your master, and say I won'tdetain him five minutes." With these words, her Ladyshipsauntered into the grounds. She looked about her with observanteyes; not only noticing the tent which had been set up on thegrass to accommodate the expected guests, but entering it, andlooking at the waiters who were engaged in placing the luncheonon the table. Returning to the outer world, she next remarkedthat Mr. Hardyman's lawn was in very bad order. Barren sun-driedpatches, and little holes and crevices opened here and there bythe action of the summer heat, announced that the lawn, likeeverything else at the farm, had been neglected, in the exclusiveattention paid to the claims of the horses. Reaching a shrubberywhich bounded one side of the grounds next, her Ladyship becameaware of a man slowly approaching her, to all appearance absorbedin thought. The man drew a little nearer. She lifted her glassesto her eyes and recognized--Moody.

No embarrassment was produced on either side by this unexpectedmeeting. Lady Lydiard had, not long since, sent to ask her formersteward to visit her; regretting, in her warm-hearted way, theterms on which they had separated, and wishing to atone for theharsh language that had escaped her at their parting interview.In the friendly talk which followed the reconciliation, LadyLydiard not only heard the news of Moody's pecuniaryinheritance--but, noticing the change in his appearance for theworse, contrived to extract from him the confession of hisill-starred passion for Isabel. To discover him now, after allthat he had acknowledged, walking about the grounds at Hardyman'sfarm, took her Ladyship completely by surprise. "Good Heavens!"she exclaimed, in her loudest tones, "what are you doing here?"

"You mentioned Mr. Hardyman's garden party, my Lady, when I hadthe honor of waiting on you," Moody answered. "Thinking over itafterward, it seemed the fittest occasion I could find for makinga little wedding present to Miss Isabel. Is there any harm in myasking Mr. Hardyman to let me put the present on her plate, sothat she may see it when she sits down to luncheon? If yourLadyship thinks so, I will go away directly, and send the gift bypost."

Lady Lydiard looked at him attentively. "You don't despise thegirl," she asked, "for selling herself for rank and money? Ido--I can tell you!"

Moody's worn white face flushed a little. "No, my Lady," heanswered, "I can't hear you say that! Isabel would not haveengaged herself to Mr. Hardyman unless she had been fond ofhim--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, injustice to her--God bless her!"

The generosity that spoke in those simple words touched thefinest sympathies in Lady Lydiard's nature. "Give me your hand,"she said, with her own generous spirit kindling in her eyes. "Youhave a great heart, Moody. Isabel Miller is a fool for notmarrying _you_--and one day she will know it!"

Before a word more could pass between them, Hardyman's voice wasaudible on the other side of the shrubbery, calling irritably tohis servant to find Lady Lydiard.

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

Lady Lydiard replied without noticing the coldness of herreception.

"I have not been very well, Mr. Hardyman, or you would have seenme before this. My only object in presenting myself here is tomake my excuses personally for having written of you in termswhich expressed a doubt of your honor. I have done you aninjustice, and I beg you to forgive me."

Hardyman acknowledged this frank apology as unreservedly as ithad been offered to him. "Say no more, Lady Lydiard. And let mehope, now you are here, that you will honor my little party withyour presence."

Lady Lydiard gravely stated her reasons for not accepting theinvitation.

"I disapprove so strongly of unequal marriages," she said,walking on slowly towards the cottage, "that I cannot, in commonconsistency, become one of your guests. I shall always feelinterested in Isabel Miller's welfare; and I can honestly say Ishall be glad if your married life proves that my old-fashionedprejudices are without justification in your case. Accept mythanks for your invitation; and let me hope that my plainspeaking has not offended you."

She bowed, and looked about her for Tommie before she advanced tothe carriage waiting for her at the gate. In the surprise ofseeing Moody she had forgotten to look back for the dog when sheentered the shrubbery. She now called to him, and blew thewhistle at her watchchain. Not a sign of Tommie was to be seen.Hardyman instantly directed the servants to search in the cottageand out of the cottage for the dog. The order was obeyed with allneedful 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 thefarm, and to send him back in the care of one of his own men.With these polite assurances Lady Lydiard was obliged to besatisfied. She drove away in a very despondent frame of mind."First Isabel, and now Tommie," thought her Ladyship. "I amlosing the only companions who made life tolerable to me."

Returning from the garden gate, after taking leave of hisvisitor, Hardyman received from his servant a handful of letterswhich had just arrived for him. Walking slowly over the lawn ashe opened them, he found nothing but excuses for the absence ofguests who had already accepted their invitations. He had justthrust the letters into his pocket, when he heard footstepsbehind him, and, lookinground, found himself confronted by Moody.

"Hullo! have you come to lunch?" Hardyman asked, roughly.

"I have come here, sir, with a little gift for Miss Isabel, inhonor of her marriage," Moody answered quietly, "and I ask yourpermission to put it on the table, so that she may see it whenyour guests sit down to luncheon."

He opened a jeweler's case as he spoke, containing a plain goldbracelet with an inscription engraved on the inner side: "To MissIsabel Miller, with the sincere good wishes of Robert Moody."

Plain as it was, the design of the bracelet was unusuallybeautiful. Hardyman had noticed Moody's agitation on the day whenhe had met Isabel near her aunt's house, and had drawn his ownconclusions from it. His face darkened with a momentary jealousyas he looked at the bracelet. "All right, old fellow!" he said,with contemptuous familiarity. "Don't be modest. Wait and give itto her with your own hand."

"No, sir," said Moody "I would rather leave it, if you please, tospeak for itself."

Hardyman understood the delicacy of feeling which dictated thosewords, and, without well knowing why, resented it. He was on thepoint of speaking, under the influence of this unworthy motive,when Isabel's voice reached his ears, calling to him from thecottage.

Moody's face contracted with a sudden expression of pain as he,too, recognized the voice. "Don't let me detain you, sir," hesaid, sadly. "Good-morning!"

Hardyman left him without ceremony. Moody, slowly following,entered the tent. All the preparations for the luncheon had beencompleted; nobody was there. The places to be occupied by theguests were indicated by cards bearing their names. Moody foundIsabel's card, and put his bracelet inside the folded napkin onher plate. For a while he stood with his hand on the table,thinking. The temptation to communicate once more with Isabelbefore he lost her forever, was fast getting the better of hispowers of resistance.

"If I could persuade her to write a word to say she liked herbracelet," he thought, "it would be a comfort when I go back tomy solitary life." He tore a leaf out of his pocket book andwrote on it, "One line to say you accept my gift and my goodwishes. Put it under the cushion of your chair, and I shall findit when the company have left the tent." He slipped the paperinto the case which held the bracelet, and instead of leaving thefarm as he had intended, turned back to the shelter of theshrubbery.