"Customers!" echoed Mr. Copley.
"Yes. Because you are not made of money, you know, father; and I want a good deal of money."
"You!" said Mr. Copley, looking at her. For, indeed, Dolly had never been one of those daughters who make large demands on their father's purse. But Dolly answered now with a calm, practical tone and manner.
"Yes, I do, father; and mother has a longing for some of those Arabian Nights things in the curiosity shops. You know people enough here, father; show them your picture and get me customers."
"Don't be ridiculous, Dolly," said her father. "We are not at the point of distress yet. And," he added in a graver tone, as Lawrence left the room, "you must remember, that even if I were willing to see my daughter working as a portrait-painter, Mr. St. Leger might have a serious objection to his wife doing it—or a lady who is to be his wife."
"Mr. St. Leger may dispose of his wife when he gets her," said Dolly calmly. "I am not that lady."
"Yes, you are."
"Not if I know anything about it."
"Then you don't!" said Mr. Copley. "It is proverbial that girls never know their own minds. Why, Dolly, it would be the making of you, child."
"No, father; only of my dresses."