The End of a Coil. Warner Susan

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."

      "What is it?"

      "A chain, mother," said Dolly, holding it up.

      "What sort of a chain? Made of what?"

      Dolly told her story. Mrs. Copley examined and wondered at the elegance of the work. Mr. Copley promised Dolly a chain of gold.

      "I do not want it, father. I like this," said Dolly, putting the chain round her neck.

      "Not better than a gold one?"

      "Yes, father, I do."

      "Why, child?"

      "It reminds me of the time, and of the person that made it; and I like it for all that."

      "Who was the person? what was his name?"

      "A midshipman on the 'Achilles.' His name was Crowninshield."

      "A good name," said Mr. Copley.

      "Why that was five and a half years ago, child. Did he make such an impression on you? Where is he now?"

      "I don't know."

      "You have never seen him since?"

      "Nor heard of him. I could not even find his name in any of the lists of officers of ships, that I saw sometimes in the paper."

      "I'll look for it," said Mr. Copley.

      But though he was as good as his word, he was no more successful than Dolly had been.

      CHAPTER VIII

      LONDON

      Mrs. Copley did not like London. So she declared after a stay of some months had given her, as she supposed, an opportunity of judging. The house they inhabited was not in a sufficiently fashionable quarter, she complained; and society did not seem to open its doors readily to the new American consul.

      "I suppose, mother, we have not been here long enough. People do not know us."

      "What do you call 'long enough'?" said Mrs. Copley with sharp emphasis. "And how are people to know us, if they do not come to see us? When people are strangers, is the very time to go and make their acquaintance; I should say."

      "English nature likes to know people before it makes their acquaintance," Mr. Copley remarked. "I do not think you have any cause to find fault."

      "No; you have all you want in the way of society, and you have no notion how it is with me. That is men's way. And what do you expect to do with Dolly, shut up in this smoky old street? You might think of Dolly."

      "Dolly, dear," said her father, "are you getting smoked out, like your mother? Do you want to go with me and see the Bank of England to-day?"

      Dolly made a joyful spring to kiss her thanks, and then flew off to get ready; but stopped at the door.

      "Won't you go too, mother?"

      "And tire myself to death? No, thank you, Dolly. I am not so young as I was once."

      "You are a very young woman for your years, my dear," said Mr. Copley gallantly.

      "But I should like to know, Frank," said Mrs. Copley, thawing a little, "what you do mean to do with Dolly?"

      "Take her to see the Bank of England. It's a wonderful institution."

      "You know what I mean, Frank. Don't run away from my question. You have society enough, I suppose, of the kind that suits you; but Dolly and I are alone, or as near as possible. What is to become of Dolly, shut up here in smoke and fog? You should think of Dolly. I can stand it for myself."

      "There'll be no want of people to think of Dolly."

      "If they could see her; but they don't see her. How are they to see her?"

      "I'll get you a place down in the country, if you like; out of the smoke."

      "I should like it very much. But that will not help Dolly."

      "Yes, it will; help her to keep fresh. I'll get her a pony."

      "Mr. Copley, you will not answer me! I am talking of Dolly's prospects. You do not seem to consider them."

      "How old is Dolly?"

      "Seventeen."

      "Too young for prospects, my dear."

      "Not too young for us to think about it, and take care that she does not miss them. Mr. Copley, do you know Dolly is very handsome?"

      "She is better than that!" said Mr. Copley proudly. "I understand faces, if I don't prospects. There is not the like of Dolly to be seen in Hyde Park any day."

      "Why don't you take her to ride in the Park then, and let her be seen?"

      "Do you want her to marry an Englishman?"

      Mrs. Copley was silent, and before she spoke again Dolly came in, ready for her expedition.

      London was not quite to Dolly the disappointing thing her mother declared it. She was at an age to find pleasure in everything from which a fine sense could bring it out; and not being burdened with thoughts about "prospects," and finding her own and her mother's society always sufficient for herself, Dolly went gaily on from day to day, like a bee from flower to flower; sucking sweetness in each one. She had a large and insatiable appetite for the sight and knowledge of everything that was worth seeing or knowing; it followed, that London was to her a rich treasure field. She delighted in viewing it under its historical aspect; she would study out the associations and the chronicled events connected with a particular point; and then, with her mind and heart full of the subject, go some day to visit the place with her father. What pleasure she took in this way it is impossible to tell. Mr. Copley was excessively fond and proud of his daughter, even though her mother thought him so careless about her interests; his life was a busy one, but from time to time he would spare half a day to give to Dolly, and then they went sight-seeing together. Old houses, old gateways and courts, old corners and streets, where something had happened or somebody had lived that henceforth could never be forgotten, how Dolly studied them and hung about them! Mr. Copley himself cared for no historical associations, neither could he apprehend picturesque effects; what he did care for was Dolly; and for her sake he would linger hours, if need were, around some bit of old London; and find amusement enough the while in watching Dolly. Dolly studied like an antiquary, and dreamed like a romantic girl; and at the same time enjoyed fine effects with the true natural feeling of an artist; though Dolly was no artist. The sense had not been cultivated, but the feeling was born in her. So the British Museum was to her something quite beyond fairyland; a region of wonders, where past ages went by in procession; or better, stood still for her eyes to gaze upon them. The Tower was another place of indescribable fascination. How many visits they made to it I dare not say; Dolly never had enough; and her delight was so much of a feast to her father that he did not grudge the time nor mind what he would have called the dawdling. Indeed it was a sort of refuge to Mr. Copley, when business perplexities or iterations had fairly wearied him, which sometimes happened; then he would flee away from the dust and confusion of present life in the city and lose himself with Dolly in the cool shades of the past. That might seem dusty to him too; but there was always a fresh spring of life in his little daughter which made a green place for him wherever she happened to be. So Mr. Copley was as contented with the condition of things at this time as it was in his nature to feel. He had enough society, as his wife had stated; he had all he wanted in that line; he was just as well contented to keep Dolly for the present at home and to himself. He did not want her to be snapped up by somebody, he said; and if you don't mean to have a fire, you had best not leave matches lying about; a sentiment which Mrs. Copley received with great scorn.

      It would have, so far, suited the views of both parents, to send