"Oh no, what, my child?"
"No wine, please, father!" There was more intensity in Dolly's accents than perhaps anybody knew but Mr. Copley; he had the key; and the low quaver in Dolly's voice did not escape him. He answered without letting himself meet her eyes.
"Why not? Hasn't Lawrence given you any vino dolce since you have been in foreign parts? One can get good wine in Venice; and pure."
"If one knows where to go for it," added St. Leger. "So I am told."
"You have not found out by experience yet? We will explore together."
"Not for wine, father?" murmured Dolly.
"Yes, for wine. Wine is one of the good things. What do you think grapes grow for, eh? Certainly, wine is a good thing, if it is properly used. Eh, Lawrence?"
"I have always thought so, sir."
"Cheer your mother up now, Dolly. I believe it would do her lots of good. Here it is. We'll try."
Dolly flushed with pain and anxiety. Yet here, how could she speak plainly? Her father was opening the bottle, and the waiter was setting the glasses.