"I know what would please me," said Dolly, with her heart beating; for she was venturing on unknown ground—"A little money."
"Money!" exclaimed her father. "What in the world do you want with money down here?"
"To pay the servants, father," Dolly said low. "Margaret asked me for her month's wages, and I said I would ask you. Can you give it to me?"
"She cannot do anything with money down here either. She don't want it. Her wages are safe, tell her. I'll take care of them for her."
"But, father, if she likes to take care of them for herself, she has the right. Such people like to see their money, I suppose."
"I have yet to find the people that don't," said her father. "But, really, she'll have to wait, my child. I have not brought so much in my pocket-book with me."
This also struck Dolly as very unusual. Never in her life, that she could remember, had her father confessed before to an empty purse.
"Then, could you send it to me, father, when you go back to London?"
"Yes, I'll send it. Or better, wait till I come down again. You would not know how to manage if I sent it. And Margaret really cannot be in a hurry."
Dolly stood still, fingering the locks of her father's thick hair, while her mental thermometer went down and down. She knew by his whole manner that the money was not at hand even were he in London; and where then was it? Mr. Copley had always till now had plenty; what had happened, or what was the cause of the change? And how far had it gone? and to what point might it go? and what should she do, if she could not soon pay Margaret? and what would become of her mother, if not only her travelling projects were shattered, but also her personal and household comforts should fail her where she was? What could Dolly do, to save money? or could she in any way touch the source of the evil, and bring about an essential bettering of this new and evil state of things? She must know more first; and how should she get more knowledge?