"He has no need to do that. He does not want the office--not for the money's sake."
"Most men want money," said Lawrence.
"But do you think he does?"
"Oh, why not? Why, _my_ father wants money, always wants money; and yet you would say he has enough, too. Dolly"---- She interrupted him.
"But what did you mean? You meant to say he spends too much time at--at what? Say what you were going to say."
Lawrence rolled himself over on the bank so that he could look up straight into her face. It was a good look of his blue eyes. "Dolly,"
said he, "if you will leave father and mother for my sake, figuratively, I mean,--of course, figuratively,--I will take care that neither of them ever wants anything for the rest of their lives. And you shall have a place as good as Brierley Park."
Dolly's spirits must have taken one or two quick leaps, for her colour changed so; but happily Lawrence's speech was long enough to let her get possession of herself again. She answered with an _a plomb_ which, born of necessity as it was, and natural, equalled that of the most practised fine lady which should show her artificial habit or skill.
Like an instinct of self-preservation, I suppose; swift in action, correct in adjustment, taking its measures with unpremeditated good aim. She answered with absolute seeming calmness--
"You evade my question, I observe."
"I am sure you evade mine!" said the young man, much more hotly.
"Perhaps I do. Naturally, I want mine answered first."
"And then will you give me the answer to my question?" said he eagerly.
"That would seem to be no more than good manners."
"What do you want to know, Dolly? I am sure I can't tell what to say to you."
"Tell me what makes my father look unlike himself," said Dolly quietly.
She spoke quietly; not as if she were greatly concerned to know the answer; yet if Lawrence had guessed how her heart beat he would have had still more difficulty with his reply. He had some, as it was; so much that he tried to turn the matter off.
"You are imagining things," he said. "Mr. Copley seems to me very much what I have always known him."
"He does not seem to me as _I_ have always known him," said Dolly. "And you are not saying what you are thinking, Mr. St. Leger."
"You are terribly sharp!" said he, to gain time.
"That's quite common among American women. Go on, Mr. St. Leger, if you please."
"I declare, it's uncanny. I feel as if you could see through me, too.
And no one will bear such looking into."
"Go on, Mr. St. Leger," Dolly repeated with an air of superiority. Poor child, she felt very weak at the time.
"I don't know what to say, 'pon my honour," the young man averred. "I have nothing to say, really. And I am afraid of troubling you, besides."
Dolly could _not_ speak now. She preserved her calm air of attention; that was all.
"It's really nothing," St. Leger went on; "but I suppose, really, Mr.
Copley may have lost some money. That's nothing, you know. Every man does, now and then. He loses, and then he gains."
"How?" said Dolly gravely.
"Oh, well, there are various ways. Betting, you know, and cards.
Everybody bets; and of course he can't always win, or betting would stop. That's nothing, Miss Copley."
"Have you any idea how much he has lost?"
"Haven't an idea. People don't tell, naturally, how hard they are hit.
I am sure it is nothing you need be concerned about."
"Are not people often ruined in that way?" Dolly asked, still preserving her outside calm.
"Well, that does happen, of course, now and then, with careless people.
Mr. Copley is not one of that sort. Not that kind of man."
"Do not people grow careless, in the interest and excitement of the play?"
St. Leger hesitated, and laughed a little, casting up his blue eyes at Dolly as if she were a very peculiar specimen of young womanhood and he were not quite sure how to answer her.
"I assure you," he said, "there is nothing that you need be concerned about. I am certain there is not."
"Not if my father is concerned about it already?"
"He is not concerned, I am sure. Oh, well! there may be a little temporary embarrassment--that can happen to any man, who is not made of gold--but it will be all right. Now, Miss Copley"----
She put out her hand to stop him.
"Mr. St. Leger, can you do nothing to help? You are kind, I know; you have always been kind to us; can you do nothing to help now?"
The young man rather opened his eyes. Was this asking him for an advance? It was a very cool proceeding in that case. "Help?" he repeated doubtfully. "What sort?"
"There is only one way that you could help," said Dolly.
He saw she meant what she meant, if he could know what that was; her cheeks had even grown pale; the sweet, clear brown eyes sought his face as if they would reach his heart, which they did; but then,--to assume any of Mr. Copley's responsibilities--
"I'll assume all Mr. Copley's responsibilities, Dolly," he said with rash decision--"if you'll smile upon me."
"Assume?--Oh, did you think I meant _that?_" cried Dolly, while a furious flush came up into her face. "What a notion you must have of Americans, Mr. St. Leger! Do you think father would make over his responsibilities to another man? I did not mean anything so impossible as that."
"Forgive me Then what did you mean?"
"Perhaps something as impossible," said Dolly sadly, while the flush slowly paled. "I meant--couldn't you--could you--I don't know but it is just as impossible!"----
"Could I, what? I could do most things, if you wished it, Dolly."
"Then you must not call me that till I give you leave. I was going to say, could you perhaps do anything to get my father away from this habit, or pleasure"----
"Of betting?"