It was a day or two before, with her best watching, she could catch an opportunity to speak to her father. The second morning Mrs. Copley had headache and staid in bed, and Dolly and Mr. Copley were at breakfast alone.
"How long, father, do you think you may find affairs to keep you in England?" Dolly began with her father's first cup of coffee.
"As long as I like, my dear. There is no limit. In England there are always things going on to keep a man alive, and to keep him busy."
"Isn't that true in America equally?"
"I don't think so. I never found it so. Oh, there is enough to do there; but you don't find the same facilities, nor the same men to work with; and you don't know what to do with your money there when you have got it. England is the place! for a man who wants to live and to enjoy life."
"It isn't for a woman," said Dolly. "At least, not for one woman. Father, don't you know mother is longing to go home, to Roxbury?"
"Dolly, she is longing for something or other impossible, every day of her life."
"But it would do her a great deal of good to be back there."
"It would do me a great deal of harm."
There was a pause here during which Dolly meditated, and Mr. Copley buttered pieces of toast and swallowed them with ominous despatch. Dolly saw he would be soon through his breakfast at that rate.