"I'll make a bargain, Dolly," he said after a pause. "I'll do what you want of me--anything you want--if you'll marry St. Leger."
"But, father, I have not made up my mind to like him enough for that."
"You will like him well enough. If you were to marry him you would be devoted to him. I know you."
"I think the devotion ought to come first."
"Nonsense. That is romantic folly. Novels are one thing, and real life is another."
"I daresay; but do you object to people's being a little romantic?"
"When it interferes with their bread and butter, I do."
"Father, if you would drink no wine, we could all of us have as much bread and butter as we choose."
"You are always harping on that!" said Mr. Copley, frowning.
"Because, our whole life depends on it, father. You cannot bear wine as some people can, I suppose; the habit is growing on you; mother and I are losing you, we do not even have but half a sight of you; and--father--we are wanting necessaries. But I do not think of _that_,"
Dolly went on eagerly; "I do not care; I am willing to live on dry bread, and work for the means to get it; but I cannot bear to lose you, father! I cannot bear it!--and it will kill mother. She does not know; I have kept her from knowing; she knows nothing about what happened last night. O father, do not let her know! Would anything pay you for breaking her heart and mine? Is wine more to you than we are? O father, father! let us go home to America, and quit all these people and associations that make it so hard for you to be yourself. I want you to be your dear old self, father! Your dear self, that I love"----
Dolly's voice was choked, and she sobbed. Mr. Copley was not quite insensible. He was silent a good while, hearing her sobs, and then he groaned; a groan partly of real feeling, partly, I am afraid, of desire to have the scene ended; the embarrassment and the difficulty disposed of and behind him. But he thought it had been an expression of deeper feeling solely.
"I'll do anything you like, my dear child," he said. "Only stop crying.
You break my heart."
"Father, will you really do something if I ask you?"
"Anything! Only stop crying so."
"Then, father, write and sign it, that you will not ever touch wine.
Rupert and I have taken such a pledge already."
"What is the use of writing and signing? I don't see. A man can let it alone without that."
"He can, if he wants to let it alone; but if he is very much tempted, then the pledge is a help."
"What did you and Rupert do such a thing as that for?"
"I wanted to save him."
"Make _him_ take the pledge, then. Why you?"
"How could I ask him to do what I would not do myself? But I've done it, father; now will you join us?"
"Pshaw!" said Mr. Copley, displeased. "Now you have incapacitated yourself from appearing as others do in society. How would you refuse, if you were asked to drink wine with somebody at a dinner-table?"
"Very easily. I should think all women would refuse," said Dolly.
"Father, will you join us, and let us all be unfashionable and happy together?"
"Did St. Leger pledge himself?"
"I have not asked him."
"Well, I will if he will."
"For him, father, and not for me?" said Dolly.
"Ask him," said Mr. Copley. "I'll do as he does."
"Father, you might set an example to him."
"I'll let him set the example for me," said Mr. Copley rising. And Dolly could get no further.
But it was settled that they were to leave Venice. What was to be gained by this step Dolly did not quite know; yet it was a step, that was something. It was something, too, to get out of the neighbourhood of that wine-shop, of which Dolly thought with horror. What might await them in Rome she did not know; at least the bonds of habit in connection with a particular locality would be broken. And Venice was grown odious to her.
CHAPTER XXIV.
PAST GREATNESS.
They went to Rome.
Dolly had little comfort from her conversation with her father. She turned over in her mind his offer to quit wine if St. Leger would do the same. St. Leger would not give any such pledge, Dolly was very clearly aware; except, indeed, she paid him for it with another pledge on her part. With such a bribe she believed he would do it, or anything else that might be asked of him. Smooth and quiet as the young gentleman was outwardly, he had a power of self-will; as was shown by his persistence in following her. Dolly was obliged to confess that his passion was true and strong. If she would have him, no doubt, at least she believed there was no doubt, Lawrence would agree to be unfashionable and drink no more wine to the day of his death for her sake. If he agreed to that, her father would agree to it; both of them would be saved from that danger. Dolly pondered. Ought she to pay the price? Should she sacrifice herself, and be the wife of a rich banker, and therewith keep her father and all of them from ruin? Very soberly Dolly turned the whole thing over in her mind; back and forward; and always she was certain on one point,--that she did not want to be Lawrence's wife; and to her simple, childlike perceptions another thing also seemed clear; that it is a bad way to escape one wrong by doing another. She always brought up with that. And so, she could not venture and did not venture to attack Lawrence on the wine question. She knew it would be in vain.
Meanwhile, they were in Rome. Two of the gentlemen being skilled travellers, they had presently secured a very tolerable apartment; not in the best situation, indeed, but so neither was it of the most expensive sort; and clubbing their resources, were arranged comfortably enough to feel quite at home. And immediately Dolly began to use her advantage and see Rome. Mrs. Copley had no curiosity to see anything; all her wish was to sit at her window or by her fire and talk to her husband; and as Mr. Copley shared her lack of enterprise and something withheld him from seeking either gambling or drinking-shops, Dolly could go out with an easy mind, and give herself undividedly to the intense enjoyment of the place and the time. Yes, undividedly; for she was eighteen, and at eighteen one has a power of, for a time, throwing off trouble. Trouble was on her, she knew; and, nevertheless, when Dolly found herself in the streets of Rome, or in presence of its wonders of art or marvels of antiquity, she and trouble parted company.
She forgot all but the present; or even if she did not forget, she disregarded. Her spirit took a momentary leap above all that ordinarily held it down, and revelled, and rejoiced, and expanded, and rose into a region of pure exquisite life. Rupert, who always accompanied her, was rather opening the eyes of his mind, and opening them very wide indeed, and as is the case with eyes newly opened, not seeing very clearly; yet taking great pleasure in what he did see. St. Leger, her other companion, had a certain delight in seeing Dolly's enjoyment; for himself, alas! it was too plain that art said little to him, and antiquity nothing.
One afternoon, when they had been perhaps a week in Rome, Dolly declared her intention of taking Rupert to the Museo Capitolino.
"You were there the day before yesterday," St. Leger remarked, rousing himself from a comfortable position and a magazine.
"Yes, thank you; and now I am going to do for Mr. Babbage what you did for me; introduce him to a scene of delights. You know, one should always pass on a good thing that one has received."
"Don't you want me?"
"No, indeed! I wouldn't bore you to that extent."
"But you will allow me, for my own pleasure," said Lawrence, getting up.
"No, I will not. You have done your part, as far as that museum is concerned; and besides, I have heard that a lady must not dance too many dances with one gentleman. It is Mr. Babbage's turn."
And with a merry little nod of her head, and smile at the irresolute St. Leger, Dolly went off. Rupert was generally of the party when they went sight-seeing, but it had happened that it was not the case when the visit to the Capitoline Museum had been made.
"You are not going to this place for my sake?" Rupert said as Dolly hurried along.
"For your sake, and for my sake," she answered. "I was there for about two minutes, and I should like two days. O Rome, Rome! I _never_ saw anything like Rome."