"He's a very good young man."
Dolly was silent.
"And very rich."
Dolly said nothing.
"And I am sure he is very agreeable."
Then, as her utterances still met no response, Mrs. Copley broke out.
"Dolly, why don't you say something? I have nobody to talk to but you, and you don't answer me! I might as well talk to the wall."
"Mother, I would rather have father come down to see us. If the choice lies between them, I would rather have father."
Mrs. Copley leaned her head on her hand. "Dolly," she began again, "your father acts exactly as if he had lost money."
Dolly again did not answer. The repeated words gave her a very startled thrill.
"As if he had lost a good deal of money," Mrs. Copley went on. "I can't get it out of my head that he has."
"It's no use to think about it, mother," Dolly said as lightly as she could. "Don't you trouble yourself, at any rate."
"That's foolish. How can I help troubling myself? And if it _was_ any use to think about it, to be sure I needn't be troubled. Dolly, it torments me day and night!" And tears that were bitter came into Mrs.
Copley's eyes.
"It need not, dear mother. Money is not the only thing in the world; nor the best thing."
"And that's silly, too," returned her mother. "One's bread and butter may not be the best thing in the world,--I am sure this bread ain't,--but you can't live without it. What can you do without money?"
"I never tried, you know," said Dolly; "but I should think it would be possible to be happy."
"Like a child!" said her mother. "Children always think so. What's to make you happy, when the means are gone? No, Dolly; money is everything, in this world. Without it you are of no consequence, and you are at everybody's mercy; and I can tell you one thing besides;--if the women could be happy without money, the men cannot. If you don't give a man a good breakfast, he'll be cross all day; and if his dinner don't suit him, you'll hear of it for a week, and he'll go off to the club besides."
"He cannot do _that_ without money," said Dolly, trying to laugh.
"Then he'll stay at home, and torment you. I tell you, Dolly, life ain't worth having, if you haven't got money. That is why I want you to like"---- Mrs. Copley broke off suddenly.
"I should think one might have good breakfasts and dinners even if one was poor," said Dolly. "They say French women do."
"What French women do is neither here nor there. I am talking about you and me. Look at this bread,--and see that omelette. I can tell you, nothing on earth would keep your father down here if he couldn't have something better to eat than, that."
Dolly began to ponder the possibility of learning the art of cookery.
"What puzzles me," Mrs. Copley went on, "is, how he _could_ have lost money? But I am sure he has. I feel it in all my bones. And he is such a clever man about business too!"
Dolly tried with all her might to bring her mother off this theme. At last she succeeded; but the question lingered in her own mind and gave it a good deal to do.
After a day or two more, Mr. St. Leger came as threatened. Dolly received him alone. She was in the garden, gathering roses, at the time of his arrival. The young man came up to her, looking very glad and shy at once, while Dolly was neither the one nor the other. She was attending to the business she had in hand.
"Well, how are you?" said her visitor. "How is Mrs. Copley? Getting along, eh?"
"When's father coming down, Mr. St. Leger?"
"To-morrow. He'll come down early, he said."
"Sunday morning?" cried Dolly, and stopped, looking at the young man.
"Oh yes. He'll come down early. He couldn't get off to-night, he told me. Some business."
"What business? Anything he could not put off? What kept him, Mr. St.
Leger?"
"I don't know, 'pon my honour. He'll be down in the morning, though.
What's the matter? Mrs. Copley isn't worse, I hope?"
"No, I think not," said Dolly, going back to her rose-pulling, with a hand that trembled.
"May I help you? What are all these roses for? Why, you've got a lot of 'em. How do you like Brierley, Miss Dolly? It likes you. I never saw you look better. How does your mother fancy it?"
"Mother has taken a fancy to travel. She thinks she would like that better than being still in one place."
"Travel! Where to? Where does she want to go?"
"She talks of Venice. But I do not know whether father could leave his post."
"I should say he couldn't, without the post leaving him. But, I say, Miss Dolly! maybe Mrs. Copley would let me be her travelling-courier, instead. I should like that famously. Venice--and we might run down and see Rome. Hey? What do you think of it?"
Dolly answered coolly, inwardly resolving she would have no more to say about travelling before Mr. St. Leger. However, in the evening he brought up the subject himself; and Mrs. Copley and he went into it eagerly, and spent a delightful evening over plans for a possible journey; talking of routes, and settling upon stopping places. Dolly was glad to see her mother pleased and amused, even so; but herself took no sort of part in the talk. Next day Mr. Copley in truth arrived, and was joyfully received.
"Well, how do you do?" said he, after the first rejoicings were over, looking from his wife to his daughter and back again. It was the third or fourth time he had asked the question. "Pretty jolly, eh? Dolly is.
_You_ are not, my dear, seems to me."
"You are not either, it seems to me, Mr. Copley."
"I? I am well enough."
"You are not 'jolly,' father?" said Dolly, hanging upon him.
"Why not? Yes, I am. A man can't be very jolly that has anything to do in this world."
"O father! I should think, to have nothing to do would be what would hinder jolliness."
"Anything to do but enjoy, I mean. I don't mean _nothing_ to do. But it ain't life, to live for business."
"Then, if I were you, I would play a little, Mr. Copley," said his wife.
"So I do. Here I am," said he, with what seemed to Dolly forced gaiety.
"Now, how are you going to help me play?"