"That is not precisely the ambition of all pretty young women," remarked one of the party; while Mrs. St. Leger good humouredly drew Dolly down to a seat beside her and engrossed her attention.
"You meant the words perhaps in another sense, more practical, that your father did not think of. You were thinking maybe what profession you would follow?"
"I beg your pardon, ma'am!" said Dolly, quite perplexed now. "How do you mean, profession?"
"Yes; perhaps you were thinking of being a governess some day, or a teacher, or something of that sort; were you?"
Dolly's face dimpled all over in a way that seemed to young St. Leger the very prettiest, winningest, most uncommon loveliness that his eyes had ever been blessed with. Said eyes were inseparable from Dolly; he had no attention but for her looks and words; and his mother knew as much, while she too looked at the girl and waited for her answer.
"Oh no," Dolly said; "I was not thinking of any such thing. My father does not wish me to do anything of the kind."
"Then what did you mean, my dear?"
Dolly lifted a pair of sweet grave eyes to the face of her questioner; a full, rather bloated face, very florid; with an expression of eyes kindly indeed, but unresting, dissatisfied; or if that is too strong a word, not content. Dolly looked at all this and answered—
"I don't want to live merely to live, ma'am."
"Don't you? What more do you want? To live pleasantly, of course; for not to do that, is not what I call living."