nly doing what everybody else does. You make much of nothing, in
your inexperience."

"Father," said Dolly, with a great effort, "you promised me. And when a
man cannot keep his promise"----

She had meant to be perfectly quiet; she had begun very calmly; but at
that word, suddenly, her calmness failed her. It was too much; and with
a sort of wailing cry, which in its forlornness reached and wrung even
Mr. Copley's nerves, she broke into a terrible passion of weeping.
Terrible! young hearts ought never to know such an agony; and never,
never should such an agony be known for the shame or even the weakness
of a father. The hand appointed to shield, the love which ought to
shelter,--when the blow comes from _that_ quarter, it finds the heart
bare and defenceless indeed, and comes so much the harder in that it
comes from so near. No other more distant can give such a stroke. And
to the young heart, unaccustomed to sorrow, new to life, not knowing
how many its burdens and how heavy; not knowing on the other hand the
equalising, tempering effects of time; the first great pain comes
crushing. The shoulders are not adjusted to the burden, and they feel
as if they must break. Dolly's sobs were so convulsive and racking that
her father was startled and shocked. What had he done? Alas, the man
never knows what he has done; he cannot understand how women die,
before their time, that death of the heart which is out of the range of
masculine nature.

"Dolly!--Dolly!" Mr. Copley cried, "what is the matter? Don't, Dolly,
if you love me. My child, what have I done? Don't you know _everybody_
takes a little wine? Are you wiser than all the world?"

"You promised, father!" Dolly managed to say.

"Perhaps I promised too much. You see, Dolly,--_don't_ cry so!--a man
must do as the rest of the world do. It isn't possible to live a
separate life, as you would have me. It would make me ridiculous. It
would not do. There's no harm in a little wine, child."

"Father, you promised!" Dolly repeated, clinging to him. She was not
shrinking away; her arms of love were wrapped round his neck as
tenderly as even in old childish days; they had power over Mr. Copley,
power which he could not quite resist nor break away from. He returned
their pressure, he even kissed her, feeling, I am happy to say, a
little ashamed of himself.

"You don't want me to be ridiculous, Dolly?" he repeated, not knowing
what to say.

What should she answer to that?