"You went to church this morning all right," her mother said. "There is no church for you to go to at this time of day, that I know of; and if there were, I should think it very ridiculous to go again. If you want to think, you could think about good things, I should hope, on the Pincian. What is there to hinder you?"
"Only everything I should see and hear, mother."
"Hinder you from thinking about good things!"
"Hinder me from thinking about anything," said Dolly, laughing a little.
"Seriously, Miss Dolly," said Lawrence, who stood by, hat in hand, ready to go; the Pincian Hill Sunday evening was something he quite approved of;--"seriously, do you think there is anything _wrong_ in sitting up there for an hour or two, and seeing the beautiful sunset colours, and hearing the music?"
"She's a little Puritan," said her father; "and the Puritans were always an obstinate set, Lawrence; always, and in every nation and people. I wonder why the two things should go together."
"What two things, father?"
"What you call Puritanism and obstinacy."
"I suppose because those you call Puritans love the truth," said Dolly; "and so hold to it."
"And do you not think other people, who are not Puritans, also love the truth, Miss Dolly?" Lawrence asked.
"I don't think anybody loves the truth he disobeys," Dolly said with a gentle shake of her head.
"There!" said her mother. "There's Dolly all over. She is right, and nobody else is right. I wonder what she supposes is to become of all the rest of the world! Everybody in Rome will be on the Pincian to-night except Dolly Copley. And every other mother but me will have her daughter with her."
In answer to which Dolly kissed her, pulled the strings of her bonnet into a prettier bow, and looked at her with sweet, shining eyes, which said as plainly as possible without words that Mrs. Copley knew better.
The party went off, nevertheless; and Lawrence, lingering till the others had turned their backs, held out his hand to Dolly.
"Will you tell me," said he, "as a favour, what you think is the harm of what we are doing?"
"You are just robbing the King of heaven and earth," Dolly answered gravely.
"Robbing! Of what?"
"Of time which He says is His, and of honour which He says ought to be His."
"How?"
"'The seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God.'"
"This is not the seventh; it is the first."
"Quibbling, Mr. St. Leger. It is not the seventh from Monday, but it _is_ the seventh from Sunday; it is the one day set apart from the seven."
"And what ought we to do with it? Sabbath means _rest_, does it not?
What are we going to do but rest up there on the Pincian? only rest most delightfully. You will not rest so here."
"I suppose your bodies will rest," said Dolly. "Your minds will have most uncommon powers of abstraction if they do."
"But you are putting yourself out of the world, Dolly."
"I mean it," said she with a little nod at him. "The Lord's people are not of the world, Mr. St. Leger; and the world does not like their ways. Never did."
"I wonder if all Puritans are as quaint as you," said he, kissing the hand he held. But then he went off to the Pincian.
And there, surely, was a most wonderful, rich, and varied scene; a concourse of people of all characters and nationalities--except the small party in the world which Dolly represented; a kaleidoscope view of figures and costumes, classes and callings, most picturesque, most diversified, most changeful. There were the Thayers, amongst others; and as they joined company with the Copley party, of course Mrs.
Copley's pleasure was greatly increased; for in a crowd it is always pleasant to know somebody. Mr. Copley knew several people. Mrs. Thayer had leisure to tell and ask whatever she had a mind with Mrs. Copley, and to improve her acquaintance with Mr. St. Leger; who on his part managed to get some conversation with the beautiful Christina. It was a distinction to be talking to such a beauty, and he felt it so; and Christina on her part was not insensible to the fact that the young man was himself very handsome, and unexceptionably well dressed, and the heir to many thousands; therefore a person of importance. The time on the Pincian Hill that evening was very pleasantly spent; and so Mrs.
Copley told her daughter on their return.
"Mrs. Thayer said she was very sorry not to see you," Mrs. Copley added.
"I am much obliged to her."
"You are not obliged to her at all, for she didn't mean it. That's what you get by staying behind."
"What?" said Dolly, dimpling up.
"That woman had it all her own way; talked to Mr. St. Leger, and let him talk to her daughter. You see, Dolly, Christina is very handsome when you are not by."
"Mother, she is at any time. She's beautiful. You must not set me up in comparison with her."
"Well, she's engaged," said Mrs. Copley. "I wish you were. You let everything hang by the eyelids, Dolly; and some fine morning what you look for won't be there."
CHAPTER XXV.
CHRISTMAS EVE.
Christmas Eve came, and Rupert attended Dolly to the Piazza di Spagna, where her friends had apartments in a great hotel. Dolly was quite prepared to enjoy herself; the varied delights of the foregoing days had lifted her out of the quiet, patient mood of watchful endurance which of late had been chronic with her, and her spirits were in a flow and stir more fitted to her eighteen years. She was going through the streets of Rome! the forms of the ages rose before her mind's eye continually, and before her bodily eye appeared here and there tokens and remains which were like the crumblings of those ages; tangible proofs that once they had been, and that Rome was still Rome. Dolly drew breaths of pleasure as she and Rupert walked along.
"You are going to stay all night?" said Rupert.
"Yes, they want me."
"And they have asked nobody but you?" said Rupert, who was not conventional.
"They wanted nobody but me. It is not a party; it is my old school-friend only, who wants to show me her future husband."
Rupert grunted his intelligence, and at the same time his mystification. "What for?" he asked. And Dolly laughed.
"I don't know! It is natural, I suppose, to some people. Here we are.
Good night."
The Thayers were very well lodged indeed. Dolly found herself in really charming rooms, well furnished and well lighted. She was joyfully received, and Christina led her forthwith through saloon and dining-room to the sanctuary of her own chamber. A certain feeling of contrast began to fall upon Dolly already, Christina looked so very fresh and fair and well kept; the lightest veil of anxiety had never shadowed her bloom; the most remote cloud of embarrassment or need had never risen on her horizon. Careless, happy, secure, her mind knew no burden. It made Dolly feel the pressure of her own; and yet she was glad, for a little, to get into this atmosphere of peace and confidence, and enjoy it even by the contrast. Christina's room looked like a curiosity shop. It was littered with recent purchases; all sorts of pretty things, useful and useless.
"One cannot help buying," she said, excusing herself. "I see something at every step that I want; and I must get it when I see it, or I may never see it again, you know. It is great fun, but sometimes I almost get tired. Here, dear, I can lay your things here. Isn't my fire nice?
Now sit down and warm yourself. It's too delightful to have you! It is like a bit of home, and a bit of old times. Those old school days were pleasant?"
"Very pleasant!" said Dolly, sitting down and looking into the queer but bright fire of small sticks which burned in Christina's chimney.