"Well," said he, "such independent travellers as you two ladies can do pretty comfortably alone in that paragon of lodging-houses."
"But not make the journey home alone, father."
"When are you coming?"
"When you do, of course," said his wife.
Dolly knew it must be so and not otherwise. She sat still and down-hearted, looking abroad over the bay of Naples, over all the shores of which the moonlight was quivering or lying in still floods of calm beauty. From this, ay, and from everything that was like this, in either its fairness or its tranquillity, she must go. There had been a little lull in her cares since they came to Sorrento; the lull was over. Back to London!—And that meant, back to everything from which she had hoped to escape. How fondly she had hoped, once her father was away from the scene of his habits and temptations, he could be saved to himself and his family; and perhaps even lured back to America where he would be comparatively safe. Now where was that hope, or any other? Suddenly Dolly changed her place and sat down close beside Mr. Copley.
"Father, I wish you would take us back to our real old home—back to Roxbury!"
"Can't do it, my pet."
"But, father, why not? What should keep you in England?"
"Business."
"Now that you are out of the office?"