beauty, but the contrary; it was pleasant to the eyes. And
Dolly was _naive_, and fresh, and independent too, with a manner as
fearless and much more frank than Lady Brierley's own, and yet with as
simple a reserve of womanly dignity as any lady could have; and how a
girl that painted likenesses for money, and made her own bread, and
learned cookery of Mrs. Jersey, could talk to Lord Brierley with such
sweet, quiet freedom, was a puzzle most puzzling to the great lady. So
it was to others, for at Brierley House Dolly often saw a great deal of
company. It did her good; it refreshed her; it gave her a world of
things to tell for the amusement of her mother; and besides all that,
she felt that Lady Brierley was really a friend, and would be kind if
occasion were; indeed, she was kind now.

Dolly needed it all, for darker days were coming, and the shadow of
them was "cast before," as the manner is. With every visit of Mr.
Copley to the cottage, Dolly grew more uneasy. He was not looking well,
nor happy, nor easy; his manner was constrained, his spirits were
forced; and for all that appeared, he might suppose that Dolly and her
mother could live on air. He gave them nothing else to live on. What
did he live on himself, Dolly queried, besides wine? and she made up
her mind that, hard as it was, and doubtful as the effect, she must
have a talk with him the next time he came down. "O father, father!"
she cried to herself in the bitterness of her heart, "how can you! how
can you! how can you! It never, never ought to be, that a child is
ashamed for her father! The world is turned upside down."

How intensely bitter it was, the children who have always been proud of
their parents can never know. Dolly wrung her hands sometimes, in a
distress that was beyond tears; and then devoted herself with redoubled
ardour to her mother, to prevent her from finding out how things were
going. She would have a plain talk with her father the next time he
came, very difficult as she felt it would be; things could not go on as
they were; or at least, not without ending in a thorough breakdown. But
what we purpose is one thing; what we are able to execute is often
quite another thing.

It was a week or two before Mr. Copley made his appearance. Dolly was
looking from the window, and saw the village fly drive up and her
father get out of it. She announced the fact to her mother, and then
ran down to the garden gate to meet him. As their hands enc