The minds of both
were preoccupied. Neither of them noticed a gentleman approaching on
horseback, followed by a mounted groom. He was advancing slowly, at the
walking-pace of his horse, and he only observed the two foot-passengers
when he was close to them.
"Miss Isabel!"
She started, looked up, and discovered--Alfred Hardyman.
He was dressed in a perfectly-made travelling suit of light brown,
with a peaked felt hat of a darker shade of the same color, which, in
a picturesque sense, greatly improved his personal appearance. His
pleasure at discovering Isabel gave the animation to his features which
they wanted on ordinary occasions. He sat his horse, a superb hunter,
easily and gracefully. His light amber-colored gloves fitted him
perfectly. His obedient servant, on another magnificent horse, waited
behind him. He looked the impersonation of rank and breeding--of wealth
and prosperity. What a contrast, in a woman's eyes, to the shy, pale,
melancholy man, in the ill-fitting black clothes, with the wandering,
uneasy glances, who stood beneath him, and felt, and showed that he
felt, his inferior position keenly! In spite of herself, the treacherous
blush flew over Isabel's face, in Moody's presence, and with Moody's
eyes distrustfully watching her.
"This is a piece of good fortune that I hardly hoped for," said
Hardyman, his cool, quiet, dreary way of speaking quickened as usual,
in Isabel's presence. "I only got back from France this morning, and
I called on Lady Lydiard in the hope of seeing you.
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