n his life, Alfred Hardyman's composure deserted him. He started
to his feet, like an ordinary mortal taken completely by surprise.

Instead of Mr. Moody, instead of Lady Lydiard, there appeared in the
open doorway a young woman in a state of embarrassment, who actually
quickened the beat of Mr. Hardyman's heart the moment he set eyes on
her. Was the person who produced this amazing impression at first sight
a person of importance? Nothing of the sort. She was only "Isabel"
surnamed "Miller." Even her name had nothing in it. Only "Isabel
Miller!"

Had she any pretensions to distinction in virtue of her personal
appearance?

It is not easy to answer the question. The women (let us put the
worst judges first) had long since discovered that she wanted that
indispensable elegance of figure which is derived from slimness of
waist and length of limb. The men (who were better acquainted with the
subject) looked at her figure from their point of view; and, finding it
essentially embraceable, asked for nothing more. It might have been her
bright complexion or it might have been the bold luster of her eyes (as
the women considered it), that dazzled the lords of creation generally,
and made them all alike incompetent to discover her faults. Still,
she had compensating attractions which no severity of criticism could
dispute. Her smile, beginning at her lips, flowed brightly and instantly
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 her