She had a large and insatiable appetite for the sight and knowledge of everything that was worth seeing or knowing; it followed, that London was to her a rich treasure field. She delighted in viewing it under its historical aspect; she would study out the associations and the chronicled events connected with a particular point; and then, with her mind and heart full of the subject, go some day to visit the place with her father. What pleasure she took in this way it is impossible to tell. Mr. Copley was excessively fond and proud of his daughter, even though her mother thought him so careless about her interests; his life was a busy one, but from time to time he would spare half a day to give to Dolly, and then they went sight-seeing together. Old houses, old gateways and courts, old corners and streets, where something had happened or somebody had lived that henceforth could never be forgotten, how Dolly studied them and hung about them! Mr. Copley himself cared for no historical associations, neither could he apprehend picturesque effects; what he did care for was Dolly; and for her sake he would linger hours, if need were, around some bit of old London; and find amusement enough the while in watching Dolly. Dolly studied like an antiquary, and dreamed like a romantic girl; and at the same time enjoyed fine effects with the true natural feeling of an artist; though Dolly was no artist. The sense had not been cultivated, but the feeling was born in her. So the British Museum was to her something quite beyond fairyland; a region of wonders, where past ages went by in procession; or better, stood still for her eyes to gaze upon them. The Tower was another place of indescribable fascination. How many visits they made to it I dare not say; Dolly never had enough; and her delight was so much of a feast to her father that he did not grudge the time nor mind what he would have called the dawdling. Indeed it was a sort of refuge to Mr. Copley, when business perplexities or iterations had fairly wearied him, which sometimes happened; then he would flee away from the dust and confusion of present life in the city and lose himself with Dolly in the cool shades of the past. That might seem dusty to him too; but there was always a fresh spring of life in his little daughter which made a green place for him wherever she happened to be. So Mr. Copley was as contented with the condition of things at this time as it was in his nature to feel. He had enough society, as his wife had stated; he had all he wanted in that line; he was just as well contented to keep Dolly for the present at home and to himself. He did not want her to be snapped up by somebody, he said; and if you don't mean to have a fire, you had best not leave matches lying about; a sentiment which Mrs. Copley received with great scorn.
It would have, so far, suited the views of both parents, to send Dolly to some first-rate boarding school for a year or two. Only, they could not do without her. She was the staple of Mrs. Copley's life, and the spice of life to her husband. Dolly was kept at home therefore, and furnished with masters in music and drawing, and at her pressing request, in languages also. And just because she made diligent, conscientious use of these advantages and worked hard most of the time, Dolly the more richly enjoyed an occasional half day of wandering about with her father. She came home from her visit to the Bank of England in high glee and with a brave appetite for her late luncheon.
"Well," said Mrs. Copley, watching her,--"now you have tired yourself out again; and for what?"
"O mother, it was a very great sight!" said Dolly. "I wish you had been along. I think it has given me the best notion of the greatness of England that I have got from anything yet."
"Money isn't _everything_," said Mrs. Copley scornfully. "I dare say we have just as good banks in America."
"Father says, there is nothing equal to it in the world."
"That is because your father is so taken with everything English. He'd be sure to say that. I don't know why a bank in America shouldn't be as good as a bank here, or anywhere."
"It isn't that, mother. A bank might be _good_, in one sense; but it could not be such a magnificent establishment as this, anywhere but in England."
"Why not?"
"Oh, the abundance of wealth here, mother; and the scale of everything; and the superb order and system. English system is something beautiful." And Dolly went on to explain to her mother the arrangements of the bank, and in especial the order taken for the preservation and gradual destruction of the redeemed notes.
"I should like to know what is the use of such things as banks at all?"
was Mrs. Copley's unsatisfied comment.
"Why mother? don't you know? they make business so much easier, and safer."
"I wish there was no such thing as banks, then."
"O mother! Why do you say that?"
"Then your father would maybe let business alone."
"But he is fond of business!"
"I don't think business is fond of him. He gets drawn into a speculation here and a speculation there, by some of these people he is always with; and some day he will do it once too often. He has enough for us all now; if he would only keep to his consul's business and let banks alone."
Mrs. Copley looked worried, and Dolly for a moment looked grave; but it was her mother's way to talk so.
"Why did he take the consulship?"
"Ask him! Because he would rather be a nobody in England than a somebody in America."
"Mother," said Dolly after a pause, "we have an invitation to dinner."
"Who?"
"Father and I."
"Not me!" cried Mrs. Copley. "You and your father, and not your father's wife!"
"I suppose the people do not know you, mother, nor know about you; that must be the reason."
"How do they know about you, pray?"
"They have seen me. At least one of them has; so father says."
"One of whom?"
"One of the family."
"What family is it?"
"A rich banker's family, father says. Mr. St. Leger."
"St. Leger. That is a good name here."
"They are very rich, father says, and have a beautiful place."
"Where?"
"Some miles out of London; a good many, I think."
"Where is your invitation?"
"Where?--Oh, it is not written. Mr. St. Leger asked father to come and bring me."
"And _Mrs._ St. Leger has sent you no invitation, then. Not even a card, Dolly?"
"Why no, mother. Was that necessary?"
"It would have been civil," said Mrs. Copley. "It is what she would have done to an Englishwoman. I suppose they think we don't know any better."
Dolly was silent, and Mrs. Copley presently went on.--"How can you go to dinner several miles away? You would have to come back in the night."
"Oh no; we could not do that. Mr. St. Leger asked us to stay over till next day."
"It is just like everything else in this miserable country!" Mrs.
Copley exclaimed. "I wish I was at home!"
"Oh, why, mother? We shall go home by and by; why cannot you enjoy things, while we are here?"
"Enjoy what? Staying here in the house and seeing you and your father go off to dinners without me? At home I am Mrs. Copley, and it means something; here, it seems, I am Mr. Copley's housekeeper."
"But, mother, nobody meant any affront. And you will not see us go off and leave you; for I shall stay at home."
"Indeed you will do no such thing! I am not going to have you asked anywhere, really asked to a dinner, and not go. You shall go, Dolly.
But I really think Mr. Copley might have managed to let the people know you had a mother somewhere. That's what he would have done, if it wasn't for business. It is business that swallows him up; and I don't know for my part what life is good for so. Once I had a husband. Now, I declare I haven't got anything but you, Dolly."
"Mother, you _have_ me," said the girl, kissing her. And the caress was so sweet that it reminded Mrs. Copley how much that one word "Dolly"
signified; and she was quiet. And when Mr. Copley came home, and the subject was discussed anew, she limited herself to inquiries about the family and questions concerning Dolly's dress, refraining from all complaints on her own score.