"No, I think not," said Dolly, going back to her rose-pulling, with a hand that trembled.
"May I help you? What are all these roses for? Why, you've got a lot of 'em. How do you like Brierley, Miss Dolly? It likes you. I never saw you look better. How does your mother fancy it?"
"Mother has taken a fancy to travel. She thinks she would like that better than being still in one place."
"Travel! Where to? Where does she want to go?"
"She talks of Venice. But I do not know whether father could leave his post."
"I should say he couldn't, without the post leaving him. But, I say, Miss Dolly! maybe Mrs. Copley would let me be her travelling-courier, instead. I should like that famously. Venice—and we might run down and see Rome. Hey? What do you think of it?"
Dolly answered coolly, inwardly resolving she would have no more to say about travelling before Mr. St. Leger. However, in the evening he brought up the subject himself; and Mrs. Copley and he went into it eagerly, and spent a delightful evening over plans for a possible journey; talking of routes, and settling upon stopping places. Dolly was glad to see her mother pleased and amused, even so; but herself took no sort of part in the talk. Next day Mr. Copley in truth arrived, and was joyfully received.
"Well, how do you do?" said he, after the first rejoicings were over, looking from his wife to his daughter and back again. It was the third or fourth time he had asked the question. "Pretty jolly, eh? Dolly is. You are not, my dear, seems to me."
"You are not either, it seems to me, Mr. Copley."
"I? I am well enough."