Hardyman to speak
favorably of me," she said, with a pert little laugh. "I hope you are
not jealous of him, Mr. Moody?"
Moody was in no humor to make allowances for the unbridled gayety of
youth and good spirits.
"I hate any man who admires you," he burst out passionately, "let him be
who he may!"
Isabel looked at her strange lover with unaffected astonishment. How
unlike Mr. Hardyman, who had treated her as a lady from first to last!
"What an odd man you are!" she said. "You can't take a joke. I'm sure I
didn't mean to offend you."
"You don't offend me--you do worse, you distress me."
Isabel's color began to rise. The merriment died out of her face; she
looked at Moody gravely. "I don't like to be accused of distressing
people when I don't deserve it," she said. "I had better leave you. Let
me by, if you please."
Having committed one error in offending her, Moody committed another in
attempting to make his peace with her. Acting under the fear that she
would really leave him, he took her roughly by the arm.
"You are always trying to get away from me," he said. "I wish I knew how
to make you like me, Isabel."
"I don't allow you to call me Isabel!" she retorted, struggling to free
herself from his hold. "Let go of my arm. You hurt me."
Moody dropped her arm with a bitter sigh. "I don't know how to deal with
you," he said simply. "Have some pity on me!"
If the steward had known anything of women (at Isabel's age) he would
never have appealed to her mercy in those plain terms, and at the
unpropitious moment.
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