over her whole face. A delicious atmosphere of health, freshness, and
good humor seemed to radiate from her wherever she went and whatever she
did. For the rest her brown hair grew low over her broad white forehead,
and was topped by a neat little lace cap with ribbons of a violet color.
A plain collar and plain cuffs encircled her smooth, round neck, and
her plump dimpled hands. Her merino dress, covering but not hiding the
charming outline of her bosom, matched the color of the cap-ribbons, and
was brightened by a white muslin apron coquettishly trimmed about the
pockets, a gift from Lady Lydiard. Blushing and smiling, she let the
door fall to behind her, and, shyly approaching the stranger, said
to him, in her small, clear voice, "If you please, sir, are you Mr.
Hardyman?"

The gravity of the great horse-breeder deserted him at her first
question. He smiled as he acknowledged that he was "Mr. Hardyman"--he
smiled as he offered her a chair.

"No, thank you, sir," she said, with a quaintly pretty inclination of
her head. "I am only sent here to make her Ladyship's apologies. She has
put the poor dear dog into a warm bath, and she can't leave him. And Mr.
Moody can't come instead of me, because I was too frightened to be of
any use, and so he had to hold the dog. That's all. We are very anxious
sir, to know if the warm bath is the right thing. Please come into the
room and tell us."

She led the way back to the door. Hardyman, naturally enough, was
slow to follow her. When a man is fascinated by the charm of youth and
beauty, he is in no hurry to transfer his attention to a sick animal
in a bath. Hardyman seized on the first excuse that he could devise
for keeping Isabel to himself--that is to say, for keeping her in the