"More than your head can bear," said Lawrence. "Keep within that limit, and you're all right."
"Suppose your neighbour cannot bear what you can?" said Dolly, looking at him. "And suppose your example tempts him?"
"It's his business to know what he can take," said Lawrence. "It isn't mine."
"But suppose he is drawn on by your example, and drinks more than he can bear? What follows, Mr. St. Leger?"
Dolly's voice had a pathetic clang which touched Rupert, and I think embarrassed Lawrence.
"If he is so unwise, of course he suffers for it. But as I said, that is his business."
"And not yours?"
"Of course not!" Mr. Copley broke in. "Dolly, you do not understand the world. How can I tell St. Leger how much he is to drink? or he tell me how much I must? Don't be absurd, child! You grow a little absurd, living alone."
"Father, I think the world might be better than it is. And one person helps on another for good or for evil. And St. Paul was not of your opinion."
"St. Paul? What did he say about it? That one must not drink wine? Not at all. He told Timothy, or somebody, to take it, for his stomach's sake."
"But he said,--that if meat made his brother to offend, he would eat no meat while the world stood, lest he made his brother to offend. And meat is certainly a good thing."
"Well, there are just two things about it," said Mr. Copley; "meat is not wine, and I am not St. Paul. A little more, Lawrence. If it is not a man's duty to look after his neighbour's potations, neither is it a woman's. Dolly is young; she will learn better."
If she did not, Lawrence thought, she would be an inconvenient helpmeet for him. He was very much in love; but certainly he would not wish his wife to take up a crusade against society. Perhaps Dolly _would_ learn better; he hoped so. Yet the little girl had some reason, too; for her father gave her trouble, Lawrence knew. "I'm sorry," he thought, "deuced sorry! but really I can't be expected to take Mr. Copley, wine and all, on my shoulders. Really it is not my look-out."
Dolly went home very sober and careful. It is true, not much wine had been drunk that day. Yet she knew a line had been passed, the passing of which was significant of future licence, and introductory to it. And that it had been done in her presence was to prove to her that her influence could avail nothing. It was bravado. What lay before her now?
"Rupert," she said suddenly, as they were walking together, "let us make a solemn pledge, you and I, each to the other, that we will never drink wine nor anything of the sort; unless we must, for sickness, you know."
"What would be the good of that?" said the young man, laughing.
"I don't know," said Dolly, from whose eyes, on the contrary, hot tears began to drop. "Perhaps I shall save you, and you may save me; how can we tell?"
"But we could keep from it just the same, without pledging ourselves?"
said Rupert, soberly enough now.
"Could; but we might be tempted. If we do this, maybe we can help other people, as well as each other."
The tears were coming so thick from Dolly's eyes that Rupert's heart was sore for her. She was brushing them away, right and left, but he saw them glitter and fall; and he thought the man who could, for the sake of a glass of wine, cause such tears to be shed, was--I won't say what he thought he was. He was mad against Mr. Copley and St. Leger too. He promised whatever Dolly wanted.
And when they were at home, and an opportunity was found, the agreement abovementioned was written out, and Rupert made two copies, and one of them he kept and one Dolly kept; both signed with both their names.
So Rupert was safe. From that day, however, things went less well with Mr. Copley. He began by small degrees to withdraw himself from the constant attendance upon his wife and daughter which he had hitherto practised, leaving them again to Lawrence's care. By little and little this came about. Mr. Copley excused himself in the morning, and was with them in the evening; then after a while he was missing in the evening. Dolly tried to hold him fast, by getting him to sit for his picture; and the very observation under which she held him so, showed her that he was suffering from evil influences. His eyes had lost something of their frank, manly sparkle; avoided hers; looked dull and unsteady. The lines of his whole face inexplicably were changed; an expression of feebleness and something like humiliation taking place of the alert, bold, self-sufficient readiness of look and tone which had been natural to him. Dolly read it all, with a heart torn in two, and painted it as she read it; making a capital picture of him. But it grieved Dolly sorely, while it delighted everybody else.
"What is it worth, father?" she asked, concealing as well as she could what she felt.
"Worth? it's worth anything you please. It is glorious, Dolly!"
"I work for money," she said archly.
"Upon my word, you could turn a pretty penny if you did. This is capital work," said he, turning to Lawrence. "If this had been done on ivory, now"----
"I did a likeness of Mr. St. Leger for his mother--that was on ivory.
She sent me ten pounds for it."
"Ten pounds to _her_. To anybody else, I should say it was worth twenty,--well," said Mr. Copley.
"So I say, sir," Lawrence answered. "I am going to pay that price for my copy."
"Then will you pay me twenty pounds, sir?"
"I?" said Mr. Copley. "Not exactly, Dolly! I am not made of money, like your friend Lawrence here. Wish I could, and you should have it."
"Will you get me customers, then, father?"
"Customers!" echoed Mr. Copley.
"Yes. Because you are not made of money, you know, father; and I want a good deal of money."
"You!" said Mr. Copley, looking at her. For, indeed, Dolly had never been one of those daughters who make large demands on their father's purse. But Dolly answered now with a calm, practical tone and manner.
"Yes, I do, father; and mother has a longing for some of those Arabian Nights things in the curiosity shops. You know people enough here, father; show them your picture and get me customers."
"Don't be ridiculous, Dolly," said her father. "We are not at the point of distress yet. And," he added in a graver tone, as Lawrence left the room, "you must remember, that even if I were willing to see my daughter working as a portrait-painter, Mr. St. Leger might have a serious objection to his wife doing it--or a lady who is to be his wife."
"Mr. St. Leger may dispose of his wife when he gets her," said Dolly calmly. "I am not that lady."
"Yes, you are."
"Not if I know anything about it."
"Then you don't!" said Mr. Copley. "It is proverbial that girls never know their own minds. Why, Dolly, it would be the making of you, child."
"No, father; only of my dresses."
Mr. Copley was a little provoked.
"What's your objection to St. Leger? Can you give one?" he asked hotly.
"Father, he doesn't suit me."
"You don't like him, because you don't like him. A real woman's reason!
Isn't he handsome?"
"Very. And sleepy."
"He's wide awake enough for purposes of business."