I hope I haven't
kept you standing too long? I didn't think of it in the pleasure of
meeting you. Good-by, Miss Isabel; good-by, till to-morrow!"

He took off his hat to Isabel, nodded to Moody, and pursued his way to
the farm.

Isabel looked at her companion. His eyes were still on the ground. Pale,
silent, motionless, he waited by her like a dog, until she gave the
signal of walking on again towards the house.

"You are not angry with me for speaking to Mr. Hardyman?" she asked,
anxiously.

He lifted his head it the sound of her voice. "Angry with you, my dear!
why should I be angry?"

"You seem so changed, Robert, since we met Mr. Hardyman. I couldn't help
speaking to him--could I?"

"Certainly not."

They moved on towards the villa. Isabel was still uneasy. There was
something in Moody's silent submission to all that she said and all that
she did which pained and humiliated her. "You're not jealous?" she said,
smiling timidly.

He tried to speak lightly on his side. "I have no time to be jealous
while I have your affairs to look after," he answered.

She pressed his arm tenderly. "Never fear, Robert, that new friends will
make me forget the best and dearest friend who is now at my side." She
paused, and looked up at him with a compassionate fondness that was very
pretty to see. "I can keep out of the way to-morrow, when Mr. Hardyman
calls," she said. "It is my aunt he is coming to see--not me."

It was generously meant. But while her mind was only occupied with the
present time, Moody's mind was looking into the future. He was learning
the hard lesson of self-sacrifice already. "Do what you think is right,"
he said quietly; "don't think of me."

They reached the gate of the villa. He held out his hand to say good-by.

"Won't you come in?" she asked. "Do come in!"

"Not now, my dear. I must get back to London as soon as I can. There is
some more work to be done for you, and the sooner I do it the better."

She heard his excuse without heeding it.

"You are not like yourself, Robert," she said. "Why is it? What are you
thinking of?"

He was thinking of the bright blush that overspread her face when
Hardyman first spoke to her; he was thinking of the invitation to her
to see the stud-farm, and to ride the roan mare; he was thinking of the
utterly powerless position in which he stood towards Isabel and towards
the highly-born gentleman who admired her. But he kept his doubts and
fears to himself. "T