There is a very nice house at Sorrento--nice people--where Lady Brierley spent a summer; and Mrs. Jersey has given me the address.
Perhaps we'll go there."
"But if Lady Brierley was there, I guess it's an expensive place."
"No, Mrs. Jersey says not. You must have what you want anyhow, mother dear."
"I always used," said poor Mrs. Copley; "but of late I have been obliged to sing another tune."
"Go back to the old tune, then, dear. If father hasn't got the money, I'll find some way of raising it myself. I mean you shall go to Sorrento. Mrs. Jersey says it's just charming there."
"I wonder what she knows about it! A housekeeper! Queer person to tell you and me where to go."
"Why, a finger-post can do that, mother. Mrs. Jersey knows a great deal besides, about a great many things."
"Well!" Mrs. Copley said again with another sigh--"it is new times to me altogether. And I wish the old times would come back!"
"Perhaps they will, mother. When once we get hold of father again, we must try to charm him into staying with us."
And it seemed to Dolly that they might do so much. The spirit of seventeen is not easily kept down; and with the stir of actually getting ready for the journey, she felt her hope and courage moving also. A change at any rate was before her; and Dolly had a faint, far-off thought of possibly working upon her father to induce him at the close of their Italian journey to take ship for home.
So she bustled about from morning till night; packed what was to go and what was to be left; grew very cheery over her work, and cheered and amused her mother. September was on its way now; it was time to be off; and Dolly wrote to her father to tell him she was ready.
A few days later, Dolly was in the porch resting and eating a fine pear, which came out of a basket Mrs. Jersey had sent. It was afternoon, sunny and hazy, the air fragrant from the woods, the silence now and then emphasised by a shot somewhere in the distance. Dolly was happy and hopeful; the weather was most lovely, the pear was excellent; she was having a pleasant half hour of musing and anticipation.
Somebody came on foot along the road, swung open the small lattice gate, and advanced up the path towards her.
Who was it? Not Mr. St. Leger, which had been Dolly's first momentary fear. No, this was a different creature. A young man, but how unlike that other. St. Leger was trim-built, smooth, regular, comely; this young fellow was lank, long-limbed, none of his joints played symmetrically with the others; and the face, though shrewd enough and good-natured, had no remote pretensions to beauty. His dress had not been cut by the sort of tailor that worked for the St. Legers; his gait, instead of the firm, compact, confident movement which Dolly was accustomed to see, had a swinging stride, which indeed did not lack a kind of confidence; the kind that makes no doubt of getting over the ground, and cares little for obstacles. As Dolly looked, she thought she had seen him before. But it was very odd, nevertheless, the sort of well-pleased smile his face wore. He took off his hat when he got to the foot of the steps, and stood there looking up at Dolly in the porch.
"You don't recollect me, I guess," said he.
"No," said Dolly gravely.
"I am Rupert Babbage. And _that_ don't make you much wiser, does it?"
"No," said Dolly. "Not at all."
"Likely. But Mr. Copley has sent me down."
"Has he?"
"I recollect you first-rate," the stranger went on, feeling in his coat pocket for something and producing therefrom a letter. "Don't you know the day you came to your father's office?" And mounting a step or two, without further preface he handed the letter to Dolly. Dolly saw her father's handwriting, her own name on the cover, and put a stop to the wonder which was creeping over her, by breaking the seal. While she read the letter the young man's eyes read her face.
"DEAR DOLLY,--
"I can't get quit of this confounded Babel yet--and you must want somebody badly. So I send Rupert down. He'll do everything you want, better in fact than I could, for he is young and spry, and as good a boy as lives. He will see to everything, and you can get off as soon as you like. I think he had better go along all the way; his mother wit is worth a dozen stupid couriers, even though he don't know quite so much about routes and hotels; he will soon pick all that up. Will you want to stay more than a night in town? For that night my landlady can take you in; and if you let me know when you will be ready I will have your passage taken in the packet.
"Hurried, as always, dear Dolly, with my love to your mother,
"F. C. COPLEY,
"CONSUL'S OFFICE LONDON,
"_Sept_. 9, 182-."
Poor Dolly read this note over and over, having thrown away the remainder of her sweet pear as belonging only to a time of easy pleasure-taking which was past. Was her father not coming to Brierley then? she must get off without him? Why? And "_your_ passage"! why not "our" passage? Dolly felt the ground giving way under her feet. No, her father could not be coming to Brierley, or he would not have sent this young fellow. And all things in the world were hovering in uncertainty; nothing sure even to hope.
The eyes that watched her saw the face change, the fair, bright, young face; saw her colour pale, and the lovely lines of the lips droop for a moment to an expression of great sadness. The eyelids drooped too, and he was sure there was a glistening under them.
"Did Mr. Copley say why he could not come?" she asked at length, lifting her head.
"He did not. I am very sorry!" said Rupert involuntarily. "I guess he could not get his business fixed. And he said you were in a hurry."
But not without him! thought Dolly. What was the whole movement for, if he were to be left out of it? What should she do? But she must not let the tears come. That would do nobody any good, not even herself. She brushed away the undue moisture, and raised her head.
"Did Mr. Copley tell you who I am?" the young man asked. "I guess he didn't forget that."
"No. Yes!" said Dolly, unable to help smiling at the question and the simple earnestness of the questioner's face. "He told me your name."
"Left you to find out the rest?" said he. "Well, what can I do first?
That's what for I'm come."
"I don't think there is anything to do," said Dolly.
"All ready?"
"Yes. Pretty much. All except finishing."
"Lots o' baggage?"
"No, not so very much. We did not bring a great deal down here."
"Then it'll go by the coach easy enough. How will it get to the coach?"
"I don't know. We must have a waggon from the village, I suppose, or from some farmhouse."
"When do you want to go? and I'll soon fix that."
Dolly reflected and said, "The day after to-morrow."
"All right."
He was setting forth immediately, with a world of energy in his gait.
Dolly called after him.
"To-morrow will be time enough for the waggon, Mr. Babbage."