advice he gave
us at that first consultation which altered my opinion of him for the
better. I dislike his appearance and his manners as much as you do--I
may even say I felt ashamed of bringing such a person to see you. And
yet I can't think that I have acted unwisely in employing Mr. Sharon."

Isabel listened absently. She had something more to say, and she was
considering how she should say it. "May I ask you a bold question?" she
began.

"Any question you like."

"Have you--" she hesitated and looked embarrassed. "Have you paid Mr.
Sharon much money?" she resumed, suddenly rallying her courage. Instead
of answering, Moody suggested that it was time to think of returning
to Miss Pink's villa. "Your aunt may be getting anxious about you." he
said.

Isabel led the way out of the farmhouse in silence. She reverted to Mr.
Sharon and the money, however, as they returned by the path across the
fields.

"I am sure you will not be offended with me," she said gently, "if I own
that I am uneasy about the expense. I am allowing you to use your purse
as if it was mine--and I have hardly any savings of my own."

Moody entreated her not to speak of it. "How can I put my money to a
better use than in serving your interests?" he asked. "My one object
in life is to relieve you of your present anxieties. I shall be
the happiest man living if you only owe a moment's happiness to my
exertions!"

Isabel took his hand, and looked at him with grateful tears in her eyes.

"How good you are to me, Mr. Moody!" she said. "I wish I could tell you
how deeply I feel your kindness."

"You can do it easily," he answered, with a smile. "Call me
'Robert'--don't call me 'Mr. Moody.'"

She took his arm with a sudden familiarity that charmed him. "If you had
been my brother I should have called you 'Robert,'" she said; "and no
brother could have been more devoted to me than you are."

He looked eagerly at her bright face turned up to his. "May I never
hope to be something nearer and dearer to you than a brother?" he asked
timidly.

She hung her head and said nothing. Moody's memory recalled Sharon's
coarse reference to her "sweetheart." She had blushed when he put the
question? What had she done when Moody put _his_ question? Her face
answered for her--she had turned pale; she was looking more serious than
usual. Ignorant as he was of the ways of women, his instinct told him
that this was a bad sign. Surely her rising color would have co