aid Mr. Copley proudly. "I understand
faces, if I don't prospects. There is not the like of Dolly to be seen
in Hyde Park any day."

"Why don't you take her to ride in the Park then, and let her be seen?"

"Do you want her to marry an Englishman?"

Mrs. Copley was silent, and before she spoke again Dolly came in, ready
for her expedition.

London was not quite to Dolly the disappointing thing her mother
declared it. She was at an age to find pleasure in everything from
which a fine sense could bring it out; and not being burdened with
thoughts about "prospects," and finding her own and her mother's
society always sufficient for herself, Dolly went gaily on from day to
day, like a bee from flower to flower; sucking sweetness in each one.
She had a large and insatiable appetite for the sight and knowledge of
everything that was worth seeing or knowing; it followed, that London
was to her a rich treasure field. She delighted in viewing it under its
historical aspect; she would study out the associations and the
chronicled events connected with a particular point; and then, with her
mind and heart full of the subject, go some day to visit the place with
her father. What pleasure she took in this way it is impossible to
tell. Mr. Copley was excessively fond and proud of his daughter, even
though her mother thought him so careless about her interests; his life
was a busy one, but from time to time he would spare half a day to give
to Dolly, and then they went sight-seeing together. Old houses, old
gateways and courts, old corners and streets, where something had
happened or somebody had lived that henceforth could never be
forgotten, how Dolly studied them and hung about them! Mr. Copley
himself cared for no historical associations, neither could he
apprehend picturesque effects; what he did care for was Dolly; and for
her sake he would linger hours, if need were, around some bit of old
London; and find amusement enough the while in watching Dolly. Dolly
studied like an antiquary, and dreamed like a romantic girl; and at the
same time enjoyed fine effects with the true natural feeling of an
artist; though Dolly was no artist. The sense had not been cultivated,
but the feeling was born in her. So the British Museum was to her
something quite beyond fairyland; a region of wonders, where past ages
went by in procession; or better, stood still for her eyes to gaze upon
them. The Tower was another place of indescribable fascin