"I don't know," said Dolly; "quite a company. There were one or two foreign gentlemen; a count somebody and a baron somebody; there was an English judge, and his wife, and two or three other ladies and gentlemen."
"How did you like the gentlemen, Dolly?" her father asked here.
"I had hardly anything to do with them, except the two Mr. St. Legers."
"How did you like _them?_ I suppose, on your principle, you would tell me that you liked the _old_ one?"
"Never mind them," said Mrs. Copley; "go on about the dinner. What did you have?"
"Oh, everything, mother; and the most beautiful fruit at dessert; fruit from their own hothouses; and I saw the hothouses, afterwards. Most beautiful! the purple and white grapes were hanging in thick clusters all over the vines; and quantities of different sorts of pines were growing in another hothouse. I had a bunch of Frontignacs this morning before breakfast, father; and I never had grapes taste so good."
"Yes, you must have wanted something," said Mr. Copley; "wandering about among flowers and fruit till ten o'clock without anything to eat!"
"Poor Mr. St. Leger!" said Dolly. "But he was very kind. They were all very kind. If they only would not drink wine so!"
"Wine!" Mrs. Copley exclaimed.
"It was all dinner time; it began with the soup, and it did not end with the fruit, for the gentlemen sat on drinking after we had left them. And they had been drinking all dinner time; the decanters just went round and round."
"Nonsense, Dolly!" her father said; "you are unaccustomed to the world, that is all. There was none but the most moderate drinking."
"It was all dinner time, father."
"That is the custom of gentlemen here. It is always so. Tell your mother about the races."
"I don't like the races."
"Why not?"
"Well, tell me what they were, at any rate," said Mrs. Copley. "It is the least you can do."
"I don't know how to tell you," said Dolly. "I will try. Imagine a great flat plain, mother, level as far as the eye can see. Imagine a straight line marked out, where the horses are to run; and at the end of it a post, which is the goal, and there is the judges' stand. All about this course, on both sides, that is towards the latter part of the course, fancy rows of carriages, drawn up as close as they can stand, the horses taken out; and on these carriages a crowd of people packed as thick as they can find room to sit and stand. They talk and laugh and discuss the horses. By and by you hear a cry that the horses have set off; and then everybody looks to see them coming, with all sorts of glasses and telescopes; and everybody is still, waiting and watching, until I suppose the horses get near enough for people to begin to judge how the race will turn out; and then begins the fearfullest uproar you ever heard, everybody betting and taking bets.
_Everybody_ seemed to be doing it, even ladies. And with the betting comes the shouting, and the cursing, and the cheering on this one and that one; it was a regular Babel. Even the ladies betted."
"Every one does it," said Mr. Copley.
"And the poor horses come running, and driven to run as hard as they can; beautiful horses too, some of them; running to decide all those bets! I don't think it is an amusement for civilised people."
"Why not?" said her father.
"It is barbarous. There is no sense in it. If the white horse beats the black, I'll pay you a thousand pounds; but if the black horse beats the white, you shall pay me two thousand. Is there any sense in that?"
"Some sense in a thousand pound."
"Lost"--said Dolly.
"It is better not to lose, certainly."
"But somebody must lose. And people bet in a heat, before they know what they ought to say; and bet more than they have to spare; I saw it yesterday."
"_You_ didn't bet, Mr. Copley?" said his wife.
"A trifle. My dear, when one is in Rome, one must do as the Romans do."
"Did you lose?"
"I gained, a matter of fifty pounds."
"Who did you gain it from, father?"
"Lawrence St. Leger."
"He has no right to bet with his father's money."
"Perhaps it is his own. I will give you twenty pound of it, Dolly, to do what you like with."
But Dolly would have none of it. If it was to be peace money, it made no peace with her.
CHAPTER X.
BRIERLEY COTTAGE.
A few months later than this, it happened one day that Mr. Copley was surprised in his office by a visit from young St. Leger. Mr. Copley was sitting at a table in his own private room. It was not what you would call a very comfortable room; rather bare and desolate looking; a carpet and some chairs and desks and a table being the only furniture.
The table was heaped up with papers, and desks and floor alike testified to an amount of heterogeneous business. Busy the Consul undoubtedly was, writing and studying; nevertheless, he welcomed his visitor. The young man came in like an inhabitant of another world, as he was; in spotlessly neat attire, leisurely manner, and with his blue eyes sleepily nonchalant at the sight of all the stir of all the world.
But they smiled at Mr. Copley.
"You seem to have your bands full," he remarked.
"Rather. Don't I? Awfully! Secretary taken sick--confoundedly inconvenient." Mr. Copley went on writing as he spoke.
"There are plenty of secretaries to be had."
"Yes, but I haven't got hold of 'em yet. What brings you here, Lawrence? Not business, I suppose?"
"Not business with the American Consul."
"No. I made out so much by myself. What is it? I see all's right with you, by your face."
"Thank you. Quite so. But you can't attend to me just now."
"Go ahead," said Mr. Copley, whose pen did not cease to scribble. "I can hear. No time for anything like the present minute. I've got _this_ case by heart, and don't need to think about it. Go on, Lawrence. Has your father sent you to me?"
"No."
"Sit down, and tell me what I can do for you."
Mr. St. Leger sat down, but did not immediately comply with the rest of the invitation. He rested his elbow on the table, looked at Mr.