ming. Mr. Copley certainly was not flush with his money now; and
she did not flatter herself that his ways were mending.

Less and less did his wife and daughter see of his company.

"Rupert," said Dolly doubtfully, one day, "do you know where my father
goes, so much of the time?"

"No," said Rupert; "that's just what I don't. But I can find out, easy."

Dolly did not say, Do; she did not say anything; she stood pondering
and anxious by the window. Neither did Rupert ask further; he acted.

It came by degrees to be a pretty regular thing, that Mr. Copley spent
the evening abroad, excused himself from going anywhere with his
family, and when they did see him wore an uncertain, purposeless,
vagrant sort of look and air. By degrees this began to strike even
Mrs. Copley.

"I wish you would just make up your mind to marry Mr. St. Leger!" she
said almost weepingly one day. "Then all would go right. I believe it
would make me well, to begin with; and it would bring your father right
back to his old self."

"How, mother?" Dolly said sadly.

"It would give him spirit at once. It is because he is out of spirits
that he does so." (Mrs. Copley did not explain herself.) "I know, if he
were once sure of seeing you Mrs. St. Leger, all would come right.
Lawrence would help him; he _could_ help him then."

"Who would help me?"

"Nonsense, Dolly! Who would help you choose your dresses and wear your
diamonds; that is all the difficulty you would have. But all's going
wrong!" said Mrs. Copley, sinking into tears; "and you are selfish,
like everybody else, and think only of yourself."

Dolly bore this in silence. It startled her, however, greatly, to find
her own view of things held by her much less sharp-sighted mother. She
pondered on what was best to do. Should she sit still and quietly see
her father lost irretrievably in the bad habits which were creeping
upon him? But what step could she take? She asked herself this question
evening after evening.

It was late one night, and Lawrence as well as her father had been out
ever since dinner. Mrs. Copley, weary and dispirited, had gone to bed.
Dolly stood at the window looking out, not to see how the moonlight
sparkled on the water and glanced on the vessels, but in a hopeless
sort of expectancy watching for her father to come. The stream of
passers-by had grown thin, and was growing thinner.

"Rupert," Dolly spoke after a long silence, "do you know where my
father is?"

"