"I have not seen much, you know," said Dolly, painting away. "But I heard a gentleman once, at his own dinner-table, and when there was company present--I was not the only visitor--I heard him tell his wife that the _soup was nasty_."
And Dolly glanced up to see how Lawrence took it. She judiciously did not tell him that the house was his own father's, and the gentleman in question Mr. St. Leger himself. Lawrence was silent at first. I presume the thing was not so utterly unfamiliar as that he should be much shocked; while he did perceive that here was some difference of the point of view between Dolly's standpoint and his own, and was not ready to answer. Dolly glanced up at him significantly: still Lawrence did not find words.
"That didn't mean anything!" at last he said. Dolly glanced at him again.
"I suppose the soup _wasn't_ good. Why not say so?"
"No reason why he should not say so, at a proper time and place."
"It didn't mean any harm, Dolly."
"I suppose not."
"Then what's the matter?"
"It is not the way _we_ do," said Dolly. "In America, I mean. Not when we are polite."
"Do you think husband and wife ought to be polite to each other--in that way?"
"In what way?"
"That they should not call things by their right names?"
Here Dolly lifted her sweet head and laughed; a merry, ringing, musical, very much amused laugh.
"Ah, you see you are an Englishman," she said. "That is the way you will speak to your wife."
"I will never speak to _you_, Dolly, in any way you don't like."
"No" said Dolly gravely, and returning to her work.
"Aren't you ever going to give me a little bit of encouragement?" said he. "I have been waiting as patiently as I could. May I tell my mother who did the picture, when I send it?"
"Say it was done by a deserving young artist, in needy circumstances; but no names."
"But that's not true, Dolly. Your father is as well off as ever he was; his embarrassments are only temporary. He is not in needy circumstances."
"I said nothing about my father. Here, Mr. St. Leger--come and look at it."
The finished likeness was done with great truth and grace. Dolly's talent was an extraordinary one, and had not been uncultivated. She had done her best in the present instance, and the result was a really delicious piece of work. Lawrence saw himself given to great advantage; truly, delicately, characteristically. He was delighted.
"I will send it right off," he said. "Mamma has nothing of me half so good."
"Ask her what she thinks it is worth."
"And I want you to paint a duplicate of this, for me; for myself."
"A duplicate!" cried Dolly. "I couldn't."
"Another likeness of me then, in another view. Set your own price."
"But I shall never make my fortune painting you," said Dolly. "You must get me some other customers; that is the bargain."
"What notion is this, Dolly? It is nonsense between me and you. Why not let things be settled? Let us come to an understanding, and give up this ridiculous idea of painting for money;--if you are in earnest."
"I am always in earnest. And we are upon an excellent understanding, Mr. St. Leger. And I want money. The thing is as harmonious as possible."
CHAPTER XXII.
MR. COPLEY.
Lawrence could get no more satisfaction from Dolly. She left him, and went and stood at the window of her mother's room, looking out. The sunset landscape was glorious. Bay and boats, shipping, palaces, canals and bridges, all coloured in such wonderful colours, brilliant in such marvellous lights and shades, as northern lands do not know, though they have their own. Yet she looked at it sadly. It was Venice; but when would her father come? All her future seemed doubtful and cloudy; and the sunshine which is merely external does not in some moods cast even a reflection of brightness upon one's inner world. If her father would come, and Lawrence would go--if her father would come and be his old self--but what large "ifs" these were. Dolly's eyes grew misty.
Then her mother woke up.
"What are you looking at, Dolly?"
"The wonderful sunset, mother. Oh, it is so beautiful! Do come here and see the colours on the sails of the boats."
"When do you think your father will be here?"
"Oh, soon, I hope. He ought to be here soon."
"Did you tell him I would want money to buy things? I must not lose that sideboard."
"There was no need to write about that. He can always get money, if he chooses, as well here as in London. If he has it, that is; but you know, mother"----
"I know," Mrs. Copley interrupted, "that is all nonsense. He _has_ it.
He always did have it. He has been spending it in other ways lately; that's what it is. Getting his own pleasure. Now it is my turn."
"You shall have it, dear mother, if I can manage it. You are nicely to-day, aren't you? Venice agrees with you. I'm so glad!"
"I think everything would go right, Dolly, if you would just tell Mr.
St. Leger that you will have him. I don't like such humming and hawing about anything. He really has waited long enough. If you would tell him that, now, or tell _me_, then he would lend me the money I want to get those things. I am afraid of losing them. Dolly, when you know you are going to say yes, why not say it? I believe I should get well then, right off. _You_ would be safe too, any way."
Dolly sighed imperceptibly, and made no answer.
"You don't half appreciate Mr. St. Leger. He's just a splendid young man. I don't believe there's such another match for you in all England.
You should have seen how keen Mrs. Thayer was to know all about him.
Wouldn't she like him for her daughter, though! and she is handsome enough, according to some taste. I wish, Dolly, you'd have everything fixed and square before we meet the Thayers again; or you cannot tell what may happen. He may slip through your fingers yet."
Dolly made as little answer as possible. And further, she contrived for a few days to keep her mother from the curiosity shops. It could be done only by staying persistently within doors; and Dolly shut herself up to her painting, and made excuses. But she found this was telling unfavourably on her mother's spirits, and so on her nerves and health; and she began to go out again, though chafing at her dependence on Lawrence, and longing for her father exceedingly.
He came at last; and Dolly to her great relief thought he looked well; though certainly not glad to be in Venice.
"How's your mother?" he asked her when they were alone.
"I think she will be well now, father; now that you have come. And I have so wanted you!"