"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. He bowed stiffly, and begged to know why her
Ladyship had honored him with a visit.
Lady Lydiard replied without noticing the coldness of her reception.
"I have not been very well, Mr. Hardyman, or you would have seen me
before this. My only object in presenting myself here is to make my
excuses personally for having written of you in terms which expressed
a doubt of your honor. I have done you an injustice, and I beg you to
forgive me."
Hardyman acknowledged this frank apology as unreservedly as it had been
offered to him. "Say no more, Lady Lydiard. And let me hope, now you are
here, that you will honor my little party with your presence."
Lady Lydiard gravely stated her reasons for not accepting the
invitation.
"I disapprove so strongly of unequal marriages," she said, walking
on slowly towards the cottage, "that I cannot, in common consistency,
become one of your guests. I shall always feel interested in Isabel
Miller's welfare; and I can honestly say I shall be glad if your married
life proves that my old-fashioned prejudices are without justification
in your case.
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