"As we get older, no doubt our
sight begins to fail--"
"And we leave off canting about the beauties of Nature," added Lady
Lydiard. "I hate the country. Give me London, and the pleasures of
society."
"Come! come! Do the country justice, Lady Lydiard!" put in peace-making
Mr. Troy. "There is plenty of society to be found out of London--as good
society as the world can show."
"The sort of society," added Miss Pink, "which is to be found, for
example, in this neighborhood. Her Ladyship is evidently not aware
that persons of distinction surround us, whichever way we turn. I may
instance among others, the Honorable Mr. Hardyman--"
Lady Lydiard, in the act of pouring out a second glassful of beer,
suddenly set down the jug.
"Who is that you're talking of, Miss Pink?"
"I am talking of our neighbor, Lady Lydiard--the Honorable Mr.
Hardyman."
"Do you mean Alfred Hardyman--the man who breeds the horses?"
"The distinguished gentleman who owns the famous stud-farm," said Miss
Pink, correcting the bluntly-direct form in which Lady Lydiard had put
her question.
"Is he in the habit of visiting here?" the old lady inquired, with a
sudden appearance of anxiety. "Do you know him?"
"I had the honor of being introduced to Mr. Hardyman at our last flower
show," Miss Pink replied. "He has not yet favored me with a visit."
Lady Lydiard's anxiety appeared to be to some extent relieved.
"I knew that Hardyman's farm was in this county," she said; "but I had
no notion that it was in the neighborhood of South Morden.
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