Lady Lydiard led the way
back into the drawing-room, followed by Hardyman, Isabel being left to
look after the dog. Before the door closed behind him, Hardyman turned
round to reiterate his last medical directions--or, in plainer words, to
take a last look at Isabel.
"Plenty of water, Miss Isabel, for the dog to lap, and a little bread or
biscuit, if he wants something to eat. Nothing more, if you please, till
I see him to-morrow."
"Thank you, sir. I will take the greatest care--"
At that point Lady Lydiard cut short the interchange of instructions
and civilities. "Shut the door, if you please, Mr. Hardyman. I feel the
draught. Many thanks! I am really at a loss to tell you how gratefully I
feel your kindness. But for you my poor little dog might be dead by this
time."
Hardyman answered, in the quiet melancholy monotone which was habitual
with him, "Your Ladyship need feel no further anxiety about the dog.
Only be careful not to overfeed him. He will do very well under Miss
Isabel's care. By the bye, her family name is Miller--is it not? Is she
related to the Warwickshire Millers of Duxborough House?"
Lady Lydiard looked at him with an expression of satirical surprise.
"Mr. Hardyman," she said, "this makes the fourth time you have
questioned me about Isabel. You seem to take a great interest in my
little companion. Don't make any apologies, pray! You pay Isabel a
compliment, and, as I am very fond of her, I am naturally gratified when
I find her admired.
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