"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.