and substituted the
designedly indefinite phrase, "domestic affairs."

CHAPTER XX.

THE day of the garden party arrived. There was no rain; but the air was
heavy, and the sky was overcast by lowering clouds.

Some hours before the guests were expected, Isabel arrived alone at
the farm, bearing the apologies of unfortunate Miss Pink, still kept a
prisoner in her bed-chamber by the asthma. In the confusion produced at
the cottage by the preparations for entertaining the company, the one
room in which Hardyman could receive Isabel with the certainty of not
being interrupted was the smoking-room. To this haven of refuge he led
her--still reserved and silent, still not restored to her customary
spirits. "If any visitors come before the time," Hardyman said to his
servant, "tell them I am engaged at the stables. I must have an hour's
quiet talk with you," he continued, turning to Isabel, "or I shall be in
too bad a temper to receive my guests with common politeness. The worry
of giving this party is not to be told in words. I almost wish I had
been content with presenting you to my mother, and had let the rest of
my acquaintances go to the devil."

A quiet half hour passed; and the first visitor, a stranger to the
servants, appeared at the cottage-gate. He was a middle-aged man, and
he had no wish to disturb Mr. Hardyman. "I will wait in the grounds," he
said, "and trouble nobody." The middle-aged man, who expressed himself
in these modest terms, was Robert Moody.

Five minutes later, a carriage drove up to the gate. An elderly lady got
out of it, followed by a fat white Scotch terrier, who growled at every
stranger within his reach. It is needless to introduce Lady Lydiard and
Tommie.

Informed that Mr. Hardyman was at the stables, Lady Lydiard gave the
servant her card. "Take that to your master, and say I won't detain
him five minutes." With these words, her Ladyship sauntered into the
grounds. She looked about her with observant eyes; not only noticing
the tent which had been set up on the grass to accommodate the expected
guests, but entering it, and looking at the waiters who were engaged
in placing the luncheon on the table. Returning to the outer world, she
next remarked that Mr. Hardyman's lawn was in very bad order. Barren
sun-dried patches, and little holes and crevices opened here and
there by the action of the summer heat, announced that the lawn, like
everything else at the farm, had been neglected