Dolly flashed a look at him upon that, a most involuntary, innocent look; yet one which he would have worked half a day for if it could have been obtained so. It was eloquent, it was brilliant, it was tender; it carried a fiery appeal against the truth of his words, and at the same time a most moving deprecation of his acting in consonance with them. She dared not speak plainer, and she could not have spoken plainer, if she had talked for an hour. Lawrence would have urged further his view of the subject, but that look stopped him. Indeed, the beauty of it put for the moment the occasion of it out of his head.
Thanks to Rupert's efficient agency, they were able to spend that night at Utrecht, and the next day went on. It seemed to Dolly that every hour was separating her further from her father; which to be sure literally was true; nevertheless she had to give herself up to the witchery of that drive. The varied beauty, and the constant novelty on every hand, were a perpetual entertainment. Mrs. Copley even forgot herself and her grievances in looking out of the carriage windows; indeed, the only trouble she gave was in her frequent changing places with Dolly to secure now this and now that view.
"We haven't got such roads in Massachusetts," remarked Rupert. "This is what I call first-rate going."
"Have you got such anything else there?" Lawrence inquired smoothly.
"Not such land, I'm bound to say."
"No," said Dolly, "this is not in the least like Massachusetts, in anything. O mother, look at those cattle! why there must be thousands of them; how beautiful! You would not find such an immense level green plain in Massachusetts, Mr. St. Leger. I never saw such a one anywhere."
Mrs. Copley took that side of the carriage.
"It wouldn't be used for a pasture ground, if we had it there," said Rupert.
"Perhaps it would. I fancy it is too wet for grain," St. Leger answered.
"Now here is a lake again," said Dolly. "How large, and how pretty! Miles and miles, it must be. How pretty those little islands are, Mr. Babbage!"