"Which pocket, father?"
"Ay, you've got your head on your shoulders! That's right. In the inner breast pocket, my dear. You'll find a small packet, tied up in paper."
Being brought and duly opened, Mr. Copley's fingers took out of a small paper box a yet smaller package in silk paper and handed it to Dolly. It was a pretty little gold watch.
"Why didn't you wait till you go to Geneva, Mr. Copley?" said his wife. "You could have got it cheaper and better there."
"How do you know, my dear, without knowing how much I paid for this, or how good it is? I am not going to Geneva, either. Well, Dolly?"
Dolly gave her father a mute kiss, which was expressive.
"You think it will do, then. What will you wear it on? I should have thought of that. You must have a chain."
"Oh, I have got a chain!" Dolly cried, and off she ran to fetch it. She came back presently with the little box which had been sent her from the "Achilles," and sat down by the lamp to put the watch on the chain. Her father's eye rested on her as she sat there, and well it might. The lamp-light fell among the light loose curls of brown hair, glanced from the white brow, showed the delicate flush with which delight had coloured her cheeks, and then lit up the little hands which were busy with gold and wreathen work of the cable chain. The eyes he could not see; the mouth, he thought, with its innocent half smile, was as sweet as a mouth could be. Mrs. Copley was looking that way too, but seeing somewhat else. Eyes do see in the same picture such different things.
"What have you got there, Dolly?"
"A chain, mother. I am so glad! I never could wear it, before. Now I am so glad."