Dolly was not much in a mood for visiting, and scantly inclined to mix in the joyous circle which must be breathing so different an atmosphere from her own. She doubted besides whether she could leave her watch and ward for so long a time as a night and a day. Yet it was pleasant to see Christina, and the opportunity to talk over old times was tempting; and her friend's instances were very urgent. Dolly at last gave a conditional assent; and they parted; Dolly and Rupert taking the way home.
"Is that lady a friend of yours?" Rupert enquired.
"The daughter; not the mother."
"The old lady, I meant. She has a mind to know all about us."
"Why?"
"She asked me about five hundred and fifty questions, after she quitted you."
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her what she knew before," said Rupert, chuckling. "Her stock of knowledge hasn't grown very much, I guess, by all she got out of me. But she tried."
Dolly was silent. After a short pause, Rupert spoke again in quite another tone.
"Miss Dolly, you've put me in a sort of a puzzle. You said a little while ago, or you spoke as if you thought, that all those grand old Roman emperors were not after all great men. Then, if they were not great, what's a fellow to try for? If a common fellow does his best, he will not get to the hundredth or the thousandth part of what those men did. Yet you say they were not great. What's the use of my trying, for instance, to do anything, or be anything?"