tell him, if he don't come to us in Dresden I shall
go back. This isn't _my_ notion of pleasure."

"But it is doing you good, mother."

"I hadn't anything I could eat this evening. If you don't mind, Dolly,
I'll go to bed."

Dolly did mind, for she longed for a walk again among the strange
scenes and people. As it was not to be had this time, she sat at her
window and looked out. It was moonlight, soft weather; and her eye was
at least filled with novelty enough, even so. But her thoughts went
back to what was not novel. The day had been dull and fatiguing.
Dolly's spirits were quiet. She too was longing for her father, with a
craving, anxious longing that was more full of fear than of hope. And
as she thought it over again, she did not like her position. Her mother
was little of a shield between her and what she wanted to escape,
Lawrence St. Leger's attentions; and she could but imperfectly protect
herself. True, she knew she gave him no direct encouragement. Yet he
was constantly with her, he had the right of taking care of her, he let
her see daily what a pleasure it was, and she was not able to turn it
into the reverse of pleasure. She could not repulse him, unless he
pushed his advances beyond a certain point; and Lawrence was clever
enough to see that he had better not do that. He took things for
granted a little, in a way that annoyed Dolly. She knew she gave him no
proper encouragement; nevertheless, the things she could not forbid
might seem to weave a tacit claim by and by. She wished for her father
on her own account. But when she thought of what was keeping him,
Dolly's head went down in agony. "O father, father!" she cried in the
depths of her heart, "why don't you come? how can you let us ask in
vain? and what dreadful, dreadful entanglement it must be that has such
power over you to make you do things so unlike yourself! Oh, what shall
I do? what shall I do? I cannot reach him now--only by letters."

Mrs. Copley got up next morning in renewed spirits. "Dolly," she
inquired while she was dressing, in which business Dolly always helped
her,--"is anything settled between St. Leger and you?"

"Settled, mother? He is father's secretary,--at least so he calls
himself,--taking care of us in father's absence. There is nothing else
settled, nor to be settled."

"You know why he is here, child."

"Because father isn't, mother; and I should like to make the exchange
as quickly as possible."

"What's the m