"Not any better; only more interesting."
"Pray tell me why."
"Think of what those old stones have seen."
"Pardon me; they have not _seen_ anything."
"Think of the eyes that have seen them, then. Or stand before one of those old suits of armour in the Tower, and think where it has been.
Think of the changes that have come; and what a strange witness it is for the things that were and have passed away."
"I am more interested in the present," said the young man. "I perceive you are romantic."
Dolly was silent. She thought one of those halls of old armour in the Tower was in its attractions very far beyond the present dinner table; although indeed this amused her. Presently her companion began again and gave her details about all the guests; who they were, and how they happened to be there; and then suddenly asked her if she had ever been to the races? Dolly inquired what races; and was informed that the Epsom races were just beginning. Would she like to go to them? was inquired eagerly.
Dolly had no idea what was the real character of the show she was asked about; and she answered in accordance with her general craving to see everything. Nevertheless she was somewhat surprised, when the gentlemen came up from dinner, to hear the proposition earnestly made; made by both Mr. and Mrs. St. Leger; that she and her father should go with them the next day to the Epsom races; and she was greatly astonished to hear her father agree to the proposal, although the acceptance of it involved the staying another day away from home and the sleeping a second night at the St. Leger place. But Dolly was not consulted. The family expressed their pleasure in undoubted terms, and young Mr. St.
Leger's blue eyes had a gleam of satisfaction in them, as he assured Dolly that now they would "show her something of interest in the present."
Dolly was the youngest guest in the house, and by all rules the one entitled to least consideration; yet she went to sleep that night in a chamber the most superb she had ever inhabited in her life. She looked around her with wonder at the richness of every matter of detail, and a little private query how _she_, little Dolly Copley, came to be so lodged? Her mother would have no reason _here_ to complain of want of due regard. And all the evening there had been no such complaint to make. People had been very kind, Dolly said to herself as she was falling asleep. But how _could_ her father have consented to stay another day, for any races in the world--leaving her mother alone? But she could not help it; and no doubt the next day would be amusing; to-day had been amusing--and Dolly's thoughts went no further.
The next morning everybody drove or rode to the races. Dolly herself was taken by young Mr. St. Leger, along with one of his sisters, in an elegant little vehicle for which she knew no name. It was very comfortable, and they drove very fast--till the crowd hindered them, that is; and certainly Dolly was amused. All was novel and strange to her; the concourse, the equipages, the people, the horses, even before they arrived at the race grounds. There a good position was secured, and Dolly saw the whole of that day's performances. Mr. St. Leger attended to her unremittingly; he and his sister explained everything, and pointed out the people of mark within their range of vision; his blue eyes grew quite animated, and looked into Dolly's to see what they could find there, of response or otherwise. And Dolly's eyes were grave and wide-awake, intent, very busy, very lively, but how far they were brightened with pleasure he could not tell. They were bright, he saw that; fearless, pure, sweet eyes, that yet baffled him; no trace of self-consciousness or self-seeking was to be found in them; and young St. Leger stood a little in awe, as common men will, before a face so uncommon. He ventured no direct question for the satisfying of his curiosity until they had returned, and dinner was over. Indeed he did not venture it then; it was his father who asked it. He too had observed the simple, well-bred, lovely little maiden, and had a little curiosity on his own part.
"Well, Miss Copley--now you have seen Epsom, how do you like it?"
Dolly hesitated. "I have been very much interested, sir, thank you,"
she said gravely.
"But how do you _like_ it? Did you enjoy it?"
Dolly hesitated again. Finally smiled and confessed. "I was sorry for the horses."
"Sorry for the horses!" her host repeated. "What for?"
"Yes, what for?" added the younger St. Leger. "They were not ill treated."
"No,--" said Dolly doubtfully, "perhaps not,--but they were running very hard, and for nothing."
"For nothing!" echoed Mr. St. Leger again. "It was for a good many thousand pounds. There's many a one was there to-day who wishes they had run for nothing!"
"But after all, that is for nothing," said Dolly. "It is no good to anybody."
"Except to those that win," said the old gentleman. "Except to those that win!" Probably _he_ had won.
Dolly wanted to get out of the conversation. She made no answer.
Another gentleman spoke up, and opined, were it not for the money won and lost, the whole thing would fail of its attraction. It would be no sport indeed, if the horses ran _for nothing_. "Do you have no races in--a--your country?" he asked Dolly.
Dolly believed so. She had never been present at them.
"Nothing like Epsom," said her father. "We shall have nothing to show like that for some time. But Dolly takes practical views. I saw her smiling out of the windows, as we drove along, coming here yesterday; and I asked her what she was thinking of? I expected to hear her say, the beauty of the plantations, or the richness of the country, or the elegance and variety of the equipages we passed. She answered me she was thinking _what she should do with her life!_"
There was a general gentle note of amusement audible through the room, but old Mr. St. Leger laughed out in a broad "ha, ha."
"What did you conclude, my dear?" said he. "What did you conclude? I am interested to know."
"I could not conclude then, sir," said Dolly, bearing the laugh very well, with a pretty little peach-blossom blush coming upon her cheeks.
"'Tisn't difficult to know," the old gentleman went on, not unkindly watching Dolly's face play. "There is one pretty certain lot for a pretty young woman. She will manage her household, take care of her husband, and bring up her children,--one of these days."
"That is not precisely the ambition of all pretty young women,"
remarked one of the party; while Mrs. St. Leger good humouredly drew Dolly down to a seat beside her and engrossed her attention.
"You meant the words perhaps in another sense, more practical, that your father did not think of. You were thinking maybe what profession you would follow?"
"I beg your pardon, ma'am!" said Dolly, quite perplexed now. "How do you mean, profession?"
"Yes; perhaps you were thinking of being a governess some day, or a teacher, or something of that sort; were you?"
Dolly's face dimpled all over in a way that seemed to young St. Leger the very prettiest, winningest, most uncommon loveliness that his eyes had ever been blessed with. Said eyes were inseparable from Dolly; he had no attention but for her looks and words; and his mother knew as much, while she too looked at the girl and waited for her answer.
"Oh no," Dolly said; "I was not thinking of any such thing. My father does not wish me to do anything of the kind."
"Then what _did_ you mean, my dear?"
Dolly lifted a pair of sweet grave eyes to the face of her questioner; a full, rather bloated face, very florid; with an expression of eyes kindly indeed, but unresting, dissatisfied; or if that is too strong a word, not content. Dolly looked at all this and answered--
"I don't want to live merely to live, ma'am."
"Don't you? What more do you want? To live pleasantly, of course; for not to do _that_, is not what I call living."
"I was not thinking of pleasant living. But--I do not want my life to be like those horses running to-day," said Dolly smiling; "for nothing; of no use."
"Don't you think a woman is of use and fills her place, my dear, who looks after her household and attends to her family, and does her duty by society?"
"Yes," said Dolly hesitating,--"but that is not enough." The girl was thinking of her own mother at the moment.
"Not enough? Why, yes, it is enough. That is a woman's place and business. What else would you do?"
Dolly was in some embarrassment now. She must answer, for Mrs. St.
Leger was waiting for it; but her answer could not be understood. Her eye took in again the rich appliances for present enjoyment which filled the room, above, below, and around her; and then she said, her eye coming back--
"I would like my life to be good for something that would not pass away."
"Not pass away? Why, everything passes away, my child" (and there came a sigh here),--"in time. The thing is to make the best of them while we have them."
Is that all? thought Dolly, as she noticed the untested, rather sad look of her hostess's face; and she wished she could say more, but she dared not. Then young Mr. St. Leger bent forward, and inquired what she could be thinking of that would _not_ pass away? His mother saw the look with which his blue eyes sought the face of the little stranger; and turned away with another sigh, born half of sympathy with her boy's feeling and half of jealousy against the subject of it. Dolly saw the look too, but did not comprehend it. She simply wondered why these people put her through the catechism so?
"What could you be thinking of?" St. Leger repeated, sliding into the seat his mother had quitted.
"Don't you know anything that will last?" Dolly retorted.