The End of a Coil

"No," said the Consul shortly; "nor any other man. I'd as lieve have you as anybody, Lawrence."

"Thank you. I couldn't expect more. But you must allow somebody in that capacity, Mr. Copley."

"Must I? Depends on how much Dolly likes somebody."

"That is just what I want to find out about myself," said the young man eagerly. "Then you would not put any hindrance?"

"In the way of Dolly's happiness? Not if I know it. But that's got to be proved."

"You know, Mr. Copley, she would be happy with me."

"How do I know that? I know nothing of the kind. It all depends on Dolly, I tell you. What does she think about it?"

"That's just what I don't know and cannot find out. I have no chance. I cannot get sight of her."

"Her mother's sick, you see. It keeps Dolly at home."

"My mother has proposed several times to take Miss Copley out with her, and she will not go."

"She's very kind, and we are grateful; but Dolly won't leave her mother."

"So she says. Then how am I to see her, Mr. Copley? I can't expect her to like me if I never see her."

"I don't know, my boy. Wait till better times."

"Wait" is a word that lovers never want to hear; and Lawrence sat discontentedly watching the play of Mr. Copley's pen.

"You know it would be all right about the money," he said at length.

"Yes, yes; between your father and her father, I guess we could make it comfortable for you two. But the thing is all the while, what Dolly thinks of you."

"And how am I to find that out?"

"Can't tell, I declare. Unless you volunteer to become my secretary."

"Does your secretary live in your family?"

"Of course he does. One of us completely."

"Will you take me, Mr. Copley?"

"Yes, but you would never take the drudgery. It is not in your line."

"Try me," said the young man. "I'll take it at once. Will you have me, Mr. Copley? But she must not know what you take me for. I don't care for the drudgery. Will you let me come? On trial?"

"Why is the boy in earnest? This is Jacob and Rachel over again!"

"Not for seven years, I hope."

"No, I shall not stay in this old crib as long as that. The question will have to be decided sooner. We haven't so much time to spare as those old patriarchs. But Dolly must have time to make up her mind, if it takes seven years. She is a queer little piece, and usually has a mind of her own. About this affair she certainly will. I'll give Mrs. Copley a hint to keep quiet, and Dolly will never suspect anything."

Lawrence was so thoroughly in earnest that he insisted on going to work at once. And the next day he was introduced at the house and made at home there.

It was quite true that Mrs. Copley was unwell; the doctors were not yet agreed as to the cause. She was feeble and nervous and feverish, and Dolly's time was wholly devoted to her. In these circumstances St. Leger's coming into the family made a very pleasant change. Dolly wondered a little that the rich banker's son should care to do business in the American Consul's office; but she troubled her head little about it. What he did in the office was out of her sphere; at home, in the family, he was a great improvement on the former secretary. Mr. Barr, his predecessor, had been an awkward, angular, taciturn fourth person in the house; a machine of the pen; nothing more. Mr. St. Leger brought quite a new life into the family circle. It is true, he was himself no great talker; but his blue eyes were eloquent. They were beautiful eyes; and they spoke of kindness of heart, gentleness of disposition, and undoubted liking for his present companions. There was refinement too, and the habit of the world, and the power of comprehending at least what others spoke; and gentle as he was, there was also now and then a gleam which showed some fire and some persistent self-will; that amount of backbone without which a man's agreeable qualities go for nothing with women. It was pleasant, his respectful attention to Mrs. Copley; it was pleasant too the assistance he was to Mr. Copley's monologues; if he did not say a great deal himself, his blue eyes gave intelligent heed, and he could also now and then say a word in the right place. With Dolly he took very soon the familiar habit of a brother. She liked him, she liked to pour out his coffee for him, it amused her to hear her father talk to him, she was grateful for his kindness to her mother; and before long the words exchanged between themselves came in the easy, enjoyable tone of a thorough good understanding. I don't know but St. Leger would have liked a little more shyness on her part. Dolly was not given to shyness in any company; and as to being shy with him, she would as soon have thought of being on terms of ceremony with Berdan, the great hound that her father was so proud of. And poor St. Leger was more hopelessly in love every day. Dolly was so fresh and cool and sweet, as she came down to breakfast in her white wrapper; she was so despairingly careless and free; and at evening, dressed for dinner, she was so quiet and simple and graceful; it was another thing, he said to himself, seeing a girl in this way, from dancing with her in a cloud of lace and flowers in a crowded room, and talking conventional nothings. Now, on the contrary, he was always admiring Dolly's practical business ways; the quick eye and capable hand; the efficient attention she bestowed on the affairs of the household and gave to her father's and mother's comfort, and also not less to his own. And she was quaint; she moved curiosity. With all her beauty, she never seemed to think of her looks; and with all her spirit and sense, she never seemed to talk but when she had something to say; while yet, if anything in the conversation deserved it, it was worth while to catch the sparkle of Dolly's eye and see her face dimple. Nevertheless, she would often sit for a long time silent at the table, when others were talking, and remind nobody voluntarily of her presence.

Spring had come now, and London was filling; and Lawrence was hoping for some gaieties that would draw Dolly out into society, notwithstanding his secret confession about ball rooms. He wanted to see how she would bear the great world, how she would meet it; but still more he hoped to have some chance to make himself of importance to her. And then the doctors decided that Mrs. Copley must go into the country.

What was to be done? Mr. Copley could not quit London without giving up his office. To any distance Mrs. Copley could not go without him. The dilemma, which Lawrence at first had heard of with dismay, turned for his advantage; or he hoped so. His father owned a cottage in a pretty part of the country, not a great many miles from London, which cottage just then was untenanted. Mr. Copley could run down there any day (so could he); and Mrs. Copley would be in excellent air, with beautiful surroundings. This plan was agreed to, and Lawrence hurried away to make the needful arrangements with his father and at the cottage.

"Oh dear!" said Mrs. Copley, when all this was communicated to her, – "why can't we go home?"

"Father is not ready for that, mother," Dolly said somewhat sadly.

"Where is this place you are talking of?"

"Down in Berkshire. Mr. St. Leger says you will be sure to like it."

"Mr. St. Leger doesn't know everything. Is the house furnished?"

"I believe so. Oh, I hope it will be very pleasant, mother dear. It's a pretty place; and they say it will be very good for you."

"Who says so?"

"The doctors."

"They don't know everything, either. I tell you what I believe would do me good, Dolly, only your father never wants what I want, unless he wants it at a different time; I should like to go travelling."

"Travelling! – Where?" Dolly exclaimed and inquired.

"Anywhere. I want a change. I am so tired of London, I could die! I have swallowed dust and fog enough to kill me. I should like to go where there is no dust. That would be a change. I should like to go to Venice."

"Venice! So should I," said Dolly in a changed tone. "Well, mother, we'll go down first to this cottage in the country – they say it's delightful there; – and then, if it does you good, you'll be well enough, and we will coax father to take us to Italy."

"I don't care about Italy. I only want to be quiet in Venice, where there are no carts or omnibusses. I don't believe this cottage will do me one bit of good."

"Mother, I guess it will. At any rate, I suppose we must try."

"I wish your father could have been contented at home, when he was well off. It's very unlucky he ever brought us here. I don't see what is to become of you, for my part."

Dolly suppressed a sigh at this point.

"You know what the Bible says, mother. 'All things shall work together for good, to them that love God.'"

"I don't want to hear that sort of talk, Dolly."

"Why not, mother?"

"It don't mean anything. I would rather have people show their religion in their lives, than hear them talk about it."