Mrs. Copley yielded to this gentle suggestion; and long, long before Dolly was ready to go, the party left the church to repair to a hotel, and have some refreshment. They were all in high spirits by this time.
"Is it settled where we are to go next?" Mr. St. Leger inquired as they sat at table.
"I don't care where _next_," said Mrs. Copley; "but only I want to come out at Dresden."
"But Dresden, mother"--said Dolly gently, "it is not in our way to Venice." She interpreted the expression she saw in Lawrence's face.
"Dolly, the Green vaults are in Dresden. I am not going to be so near and not see them. Wasn't I right about the painted windows? I never saw anything so beautiful in my life, nor you didn't. I wouldn't have missed it for anything. Now you'll see if I ain't right about the Green vaults."
"What do you expect to find in them?" Lawrence asked. "I do not remember anything about such a mysterious place."
"I have heard about it in London," Mrs. Copley answered. "Somebody who had been there told me about it, and I made up my mind I'd see it if ever I got a chance. It is like having Aladdin's lamp and going down into _his_ vault--only you can't take away what you've a mind to; that's the only difference."
"But what is there? Aladdin's grotto was full of precious stones, if I remember."
"And so are these," cried Mrs. Copley. "There is an egg with a hen in it."
At this there was a general laugh.
"It's a fact," said Mrs. Copley. "And in the hen, or under it--_in_ the hen, I believe--there is a crown of gold and diamonds and pearls, with a motto. Oh, it's wonderful. It's better than the Arabian Nights, if it's true."
"Except that we cannot take the egg away with us," said Lawrence.
"However--pray, do they let in the indiscriminate public to see these wonders?"
"I don't know. I suppose there are ways to get in, or nobody would have been in."
"No doubt; the problem is, to find the way. Influence may be necessary, possibly."
"I daresay Mr. Copley can manage it. Do write and ask him what we must do, Dolly; and ask him to send us letters, or leave, or whatever we must have. Write to-day, will you? and ask him to send it right away.
Of course there are ways to do things."
"May I make a suggestion?" said Lawrence. "If we are to go on to Dresden, why should we return to Rotterdam? We might send back to the hotel for our luggage, and meanwhile you can rest here. And then we can go on to Utrecht early to-morrow; or this evening, if you like. It would save time."
This plan met approval. Rupert volunteered to go back and bring Mrs.
Copley's belongings safely to Gonda.
"And while you are about it, bring mine too, my good fellow, will you?"
said St. Leger as Rupert was about to go. He spoke somewhat superciliously. But the other answered with cool good humour,
"All right. I'll do that, on the understanding that you'll do as much for me next time." And he went.
"Confound him!" said Lawrence; while Dolly smiled.
"Hush!" she said. "I am sure that is a fair bargain."
"Where did Mr. Copley pick up such a green hand?"
"Did you never see him at the office?"
"What office?"
"The Consul's office, in London. You have been there enough."
"Oh, ah--the Consul's office," said Lawrence. "True, if he was there I must have seen him. But what do we want of him here?"
"He is useful to you just now," said Dolly.
But afterwards she took up the question again and, what Lawrence did not dream of, included his name in it. Why was either of these young men there? This time of waiting at the hotel gave Dolly a chance to think; and while she sat at the window and watched the strange figures and novel sights in the street, her mind began to go over more questions than one. She felt in a sort lost without her father. Here were she and her mother taking a journey through Europe in the care of these two young men. What were they there for? Rupert certainly for her pleasure and service, she knew; Lawrence, she was equally sure, for his own. How should she manage them? for Lawrence must not be encouraged, while at the same time he could not be sent away. At least, not yet.
Careful, and cool, and womanly, she must be; and that was not so very difficult, for poor Dolly felt as if glad childish days were past for her.
Another question was, how she should get the most good of her journey, and how she could help Rupert, who, she could see, was on the watch to improve himself. Dolly had a sympathy for him. She resolved that she would study up every subject that presented itself, and set Rupert upon doing the same. St. Leger might take care of himself. Yet Dolly's conscience would not let him go so. No; one can be nobody's travelling companion for days or weeks, without having duties to fulfil towards him; but Dolly thought the duties were very difficult in this her particular case. If her father would but come! And therewith Dolly sat down and wrote him the tenderest, lovingest of letters, telling him about their journey, and the glass windows; and begging him to meet them in Dresden or before, so that they might see the fabulous Green vaults together. In any case, she begged him to make such provision that Mrs. Copley might not be disappointed of seeing them. All Dolly's eloquence and some tears were poured out upon that sheet of paper; and as she sealed it up she felt again that she was surely growing to be a woman; the days of her childhood were gone.
Not so far off, however, but that Dolly's spirits sprang up again after the letter was despatched, and were able to take exquisite pleasure in everything the further journey offered. Even the unattractive was novel, and what was not unattractive was so charming. She admired the quaint, clean, bright, fanciful Dutch towns; the abundance of flowers still to be seen abroad; the smiling country places surrounding the towns; the strange carvings and devices on the houses; the crooked streets.
"You are the first person I ever saw," Lawrence said admiringly, "who found beauty in crooked streets."
"Do you like straight ones?" said Dolly.
"Certainly. Why not?"
"You look from end to end; you see all there is at once; walk and walk as you may, there is no change, but the same wearisome lines of houses.
Now when streets are not straight, but have windings and turnings, you are always coming to something new."
"I suppose you like them to be up hill and down too?"
"Oh, very much!"
"You do not find that in Holland."
"No, but in Boston."
"Ah, indeed!" said Lawrence.
"I wonder," Dolly went on, "what makes one nation so different from another. _You_ are on an island; but here there is only a line between Holland and Germany, and the people are not alike."
"Comes from what they eat," said Lawrence.
"Their _food?_" said Dolly.
"Yes. The Scotchman lives upon porridge, the Englishman on beef and porter, the German on sausages and beer."
"The French?"
"Oh, on soup and salad and sour wine."
"And Italians?"
"On grapes and olives."