Is there anything wanted before I
am off?"
The inexorable necessities of business asserted their claims through
the obedient medium of the foreman. Chafing at the delay, Hardyman was
obliged to sit at his desk, signing checks and passing accounts, with
the dogcart waiting in the stable yard.
A knock at the door startled him in the middle of his work. "Come in,"
he called out sharply.
He looked up, expecting to see one of the guests or one of the servants.
It was Moody who entered the room. Hardyman laid down his pen, and fixed
his eyes sternly on the man who had dared to interrupt him.
"What the devil do _you_ want?" he asked.
"I have seen Miss Isabel, and spoken with her," Moody replied. "Mr.
Hardyman, I believe it is in your power to set this matter right. For
the young lady's sake, sir, you must not leave England without doing
it."
Hardyman turned to his foreman. "Is this fellow mad or drunk?" he asked.
Moody proceeded as calmly and as resolutely as if those words had not
been spoken. "I apologize for my intrusion, sir. I will trouble you with
no explanations. I will only ask one question. Have you a memorandum of
the number of that five-hundred pound note you paid away in France?"
Hardyman lost all control over himself.
"You scoundrel!" he cried, "have you been prying into my private
affairs? Is it _your_ business to know what I did in France?"
"Is it _your_ vengeance on a woman to refuse to tell her the number of a
bank-note?" Moody rejoined, firmly.
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