"I know you don't," said his wife. "Well, Dolly, go on with your story."
"Well, mother,—there were these grand old trees, and beautiful grass under them, and cattle here and there, and the house showing in the distance. I did not like the house so very much, when we came to it; it is not old; but it is exceedingly handsome, and most beautifully furnished. I never had such a room in my life, as I have slept in these two nights."
"And yet you don't like it!" put in Mr. Copley.
"I like it," said Dolly slowly. "I like all the comfort of it; but I don't think it is very pretty, father. It's very new."
"New!" said her father. "What's the harm of a thing's being new? And what is the charm of its being old?"
"I don't know," said Dolly thoughtfully; "but I like it. Then, mother, came the dinner; and the dinner was like the house."
"That don't tell me anything," exclaimed Mrs. Copley. "What was the house like?"
"Mother, you go first into a great hall, set all round with marble figures—statues—and with a heavy staircase going up at one side. It's all marble. But oh, the flower garden is lovely!"
"Well, tell me about the house," said Mrs. Copley. "And the dinner. Who was there?"
"I don't know," said Dolly; "quite a company. There were one or two foreign gentlemen; a count somebody and a baron somebody; there was an English judge, and his wife, and two or three other ladies and gentlemen."