"I am neither one nor the other," said Dolly, laughing.
"You are not apathetic—I can see that. What is your secret, Miss Copley?"
"I beg your pardon—what secret does your ladyship mean?"
"Your secret of content and self-reliance. Pardon me—but you excite my envy and curiosity at once."
Dolly's look went back to the fire. "I have no secret," she said gravely. "I am not a philosopher. I am afraid I am not always contented. And yet I am content," she added, "with whatever the Lord gives me. I know it is good."
Lady Brierley saw tears in the eyes, which were so singularly wise and innocent at once. She was more and more interested, but would not follow Dolly's last lead. "What do you draw?" she asked, again turning her head towards the drawing materials.
"Whatever comes in my way," said Dolly. "Likenesses, sometimes; little bits of anything I like."
Lady Brierley begged to be shown a specimen of the likenesses; and forthwith persuaded Dolly to come and make a picture of herself. With which agreement the visit ended.
If she had come some months ago, thought Dolly as she looked after the retreating figure of her visitor, I should have liked it. She might have been a friend, and a great help. Now, I don't think you can, my lady!