r mother to let the tears dry and the signs
of them disappear before she met Mrs. Copley's eyes again. To her eyes
Dolly was unfailingly bright and merry; a most sweet companion and most
entertaining society; lively, talkative, and busy with endless plans
for her mother's amusement. Meanwhile she wrote to her father, begging
him to come down to Brierley; she said she wanted to talk to him.

Three days after that letter came Lawrence St. Leger. Mr. Copley could
not spare the time, he reported.

"Spare the time from what?" Dolly asked.

"Oh, business, of course. It is always business."

"What sort? Not consul business."

"All sorts," said Lawrence. "He couldn't come. So he sent me. What is
the thing, Miss Dolly? He said something was up."

"I wanted to talk to my father," Dolly said coldly.

"Won't I do?"

"Not at all. I had business to discuss."

"The journey, eh?"

"That was one thing," Dolly was obliged to allow.

"Well, look here. About that, I've a plan. I think I can arrange it
with Mr. Copley, if you and your mother would be willing to set off
with me, and let Mr. Copley join us somewhere--say at Baden Baden, or
Venice, or where you like. He could come as soon as he was ready, you
know."

"But you know," said Dolly quietly, "I specially want _him_, himself."

"But then your mother wants the journey. She really does. The doctor
says so, you know, and I think he's right. And Mr. Copley won't leave
London just now. He could send his secretary, you know. That's all
right."

"I must see father before I can do anything," said Dolly evasively. "I
will write a letter for you to carry back to him. And I will go do it
at once."

"And I will take a look at what Peter is doing," said the young man.
"Such fellows always want looking after."

Dolly had looked after Peter herself. She paused before an upper window
in her way to her room, to cast a glance down into the garden. Old
Peter was there, at some work she had set him; and before him stood
Lawrence, watching him, and she supposed making remarks; but at any
rate, his air was the air of a master and of one very much at home.
Dolly saw it, read it, stood still to read it, and turned from the
window with her heart too full of vexation and perturbation to write
her letter then. She felt a longing for somebody to talk to, even
though she could by no means lay open all her case for counsel; the air
of the house was too close for her; her breath could not be d