"No, thank you."
"Because you can have it in a moment."
"I have dined, Christina."
"Where have you been all this while--weeks and weeks?"
"Have you not received any letters from me?"
"Yes, indeed! but words are so different spoken and written. We have been half over Europe. I wish you could have been along! Sandie, we went to Baden-Baden."
"What for?"
"_What for!_ Why, to see it. And we saw the gaming."
"How did you like it?"
"It is fascinating. I never saw such a scene in my life; the people's faces; and then the mad eagerness with which they went at it; old men and young men, and women. Oh, it was astonishing to see the women!"
"What was the effect upon you?"
"I don't know; astonishment."
"How did Mrs. Thayer like it?"
"Do you know, I think she half wanted to try her hand? I was so amazed at mother! I told her she must not."
"You observe, Miss Copley, Miss Thayer knows the use of one of my words."
It was a strange, novel, absorbing experience to Dolly. Sitting at one corner of the hearth, quiet, and a little as it were a one side, she watched the play and the people. She was so delightfully set free for the moment from all her home cares and life anxieties. It was like getting out of the current and rush of the waves into a nook of a bay, where her tossed little skiff could lie still for a bit, and the dangers and difficulties of navigation did not demand her attention.
She rested luxuriously and amused herself with seeing and hearing what went on. And to tell the whole truth, Dolly was more than amused; she was interested; and watched and listened keenly. Christina was a lovely figure in her bright dress and bright beauty, a little excited, and happy, not too much; not too much to make Dolly's presence desirable and agreeable; just enough to make her more lovely than usual. The other figure of the little party was more interesting yet to Dolly. She thought he was very peculiar, and unlike any one she had ever seen. His repose of demeanour was striking; he seemed to make no unnecessary movement; he sat still; neither hand nor head nor foot betrayed any restlessness either of mind or body; and yet when he did move, were it only hand or foot or head, the impression he gave Dolly was of readiness for the keenest action, if the time for action once came. How the two seemingly contradictory impressions were conveyed together, Dolly did not stop to think; she had no time to moralise upon her observations; however, this mingling of calm and vigour was very imposing to her; it attracted and fascinated. No man could sit more quiet in company; and yet, if he turned his head or shifted the position of his hand, what Dolly saw was power and readiness to move with effect if there were anything to be done; and the calm intensified the power to her mind. And then, apart from all this, the room in which they were sitting was filled with pretty things and charming things which the Thayers had been collecting since they came to Rome. Dolly's eye strayed from one to another, as she sat listening to her companions; though the pretty things never diverted her attention from what these were saying or what they were doing. It was a charmed hour altogether! of rest and relief and enjoyment. Taken out of herself and away from her cares, Dolly tasted and delighted in the fairy minutes as they flew, and did not even trouble herself to think how soon they would be flown by and gone.
"You have been a great while away, Sandie," Christina was saying. "Why could you not join us before? You might have skipped something. Here have I stayed away from the Sistine to-night, for your sake."
"Is it any special loss, this evening of all others?"
"Certainly! It is Christmas; there is music, and company."
"Do you enjoy the Sistine Chapel, apart from music and company?"
"No, indeed I don't! I don't like it at all. Such horrid things on the walls, as are enough to give one the nightmare after being there. I know it is Michael Angelo, and I am horribly out of order in saying so; but what is the use of pretending in _this_ company?"
"What is the use of pretending in any company?"
"Oh, nonsense, Sandie! a great deal. Everybody pretends, at some time or other. What would become of us if we spoke out all we had in our minds?"
"You do not like the Sistine Chapel. What do you enjoy most in Rome?"
"Most? The Pincian, Sunday afternoon."
"Sunday! Why Sunday?"
"Music, and all the world there. It's the most beautiful scene, in the first place, and the most amusing, that you can find. There is _everybody_ there, Sandie; people from all the quarters of the earth; of all nationalities and costumes; the oddest and the prettiest; everybody you know and everybody you don't know."
"But why on Sunday?"
"Oh, that's the special day; that and Thursday, I believe; but I generally have something else to do Thursday; and anyhow there isn't as good a show. I rarely go Thursday."
"And Sunday you have nothing else to do. I see."
"Well, Sandie, of course we have been to church in the morning, you know. There is nothing to go to in the afternoon. What should one do?"
"Miss Copley, do you enjoy the Pincian on Sunday evenings?"
"I have not tried it," said Dolly.
"Your mother and father were there, though, last Sunday," said Christina. "Sandie, what are you thinking of? You have some superstitious objection? I daresay you have!"
"Not I," said Mr. Shubrick. "But it occurs to me that there is a command somewhere, touching the question."
"What command? In the Bible! Sandie, do you think those Sunday commands are to be taken just as they stand--to mean just so? and shut one stupidly up in the house for all day Sunday except when one is going in procession to church?"
"You know," said Mr. Shubrick, "I am like the centurion in the Bible, 'a man under authority,' having other men under me; 'and I say to this man, Go, and he goeth; and to another, Come and he cometh.' I know nothing about orders that are not to be obeyed."
"And is that the way you would rule your house?" said Christina, half pouting.
"I should leave that to you," he answered smiling. "It is enough for me to rule my ship. The house would be your care."
"Would it? Does that mean that you expect always to be a sailor?"
"It is my profession. A man must do something."
"If he _must_. But not if he has no need to do anything?"
The young officer looked at her with a considerative sort of gravity, and inquired if she could respect a lazy man.
"No, and you never would be lazy, or could be lazy," she said, laughing. "But surely there are things enough to be done on shore."
"Things enough. The question for every one is where he can do most."
"Why, Sandie," Christina cried, "it is not possible that you should have your time to yourself on shipboard, and as an acting officer, as you could at home on shore. Reading and study, that, you like, I know; and then painting, and all art pleasures, that you think so much about, much more than I do; and a thousand other things;--you have no chance for them at sea."
"You talk as if one had nothing to do but to please himself."
"Well," said Christina, "so far as one can, why not? Does not all the world?"
"Yes. All the world. You are right. All the world, except a little body of men who follow Christ; and _He_, pleased not Himself. I thought you knew I was one of His servants, Christina."