He had just
read the name of the first false friend, and Isabel had just found
the card, when a servant appeared with a message. "Mrs. Drumblade
has arrived, sir, and wishes to see you on a matter of the greatest
importance."
Hardyman left the tent, not very willingly. "Wait here," he said to
Isabel; "I'll be back directly."
She was standing near her own place at the table. Moody had left one
end of the jeweler's case visible above the napkin, to attract her
attention. In a minute more the bracelet and note were in her hands. She
dropped on her chair, overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions that rose
in her at the sight of the bracelet, at the reading of the note. Her
head drooped, and the tears filled her eyes. "Are all women as blind
as I have been to what is good and noble in the men who love them?" she
wondered, sadly. "Better as it is," she thought, with a bitter sigh; "I
am not worthy of him."
As she took up the pencil to write her answer to Moody on the back of
her dinner-card, the servant appeared again at the door of the tent.
"My master wants you at the cottage, miss, immediately."
Isabel rose, putting the bracelet and the note in the silver-mounted
leather pocket (a present from Hardyman) which hung at her belt. In the
hurry of passing round the table to get out, she never noticed that her
dress touched Hardyman's pocketbook, placed close to the edge, and threw
it down on the grass below. The book fell into one of the heat cracks
which Lady Lydiard had noticed as evidence of the neglected condition of
the cottage lawn.
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