Mrs. Copley liked her chocolate and found the bread good. Nevertheless, she presently began again.
"Are we to live here alone the rest of our lives, Dolly? or what do you suppose your father's idea is? It's a very lonesome place, seems to me."
"Why, mother, we came here to get you well; and it's enough to make anybody well. It is the loveliest place I have ever seen, I think. Mr. St. Leger's grand establishment is nothing to it."
"And what do you mean by what you said about Lawrence St. Leger? Are you glad to have even him go away?"
"Yes, mother, a little bit. He was rather in my way."
"In your way! that's very ungrateful. How was he in your way?"
"Somebody to attend to, and somebody to attend to me. I like to be let alone. By and by, when you are sleeping, I shall go over and explore the park."
"What I don't understand," said Mrs. Copley, recurring to her former theme, "is, why, if he wanted me to be in the country, your father did not take a nice house somewhere just a little way out of London,—there are plenty of such places,—and have things handsome; so that he could entertain company, and we could see somebody. We can have nobody here. It looks really quite like poor people."
"That isn't a very bad way to look," said Dolly calmly.
"Not? Like poor people?" cried Mrs. Copley. "Dolly, don't talk folly. Nobody likes that look, and you don't, either."