THE PEACOCKS.
No doubts troubled Dolly's mind during that drive, about dress or
anything else. Her dress she had forgotten indeed; and the pain of
leaving her mother at home was forced to give way before the multitude
of new and pleasant impressions. That drive was pure enjoyment. The
excitement and novelty of the occasion gave no doubt a spur to Dolly's
spirits and quickened her perceptions; they were all alive, as the
carriage rolled along over the smooth roads. What could be better than
to drive so, on such an evening, through such a country? For the
weather was perfect, the landscape exceedingly rich and fair, the
vegetation in its glory. And the roads themselves were full of the most
varied life, and offered to the little American girl a flashing,
changing, very amusing and abundantly suggestive scene. Dolly's eyes
were incessantly busy, yet her lips did not move unless to smile; and
her father for a long time would not interrupt her meditations. Good
that she should forget herself, he thought; if she were recalled to the
practical present maybe she would grow nervous. That was the only thing
Mr. Copley was afraid of. However, for him to keep absolute silence
beyond a limited time was out of his nature.
"Are you happy, Dolly?" he asked her.
"Very happy, father! If only mother was with us."
"Ah, yes, it would have been rather pleasanter for you; but you must
not mind that."
"I am afraid I do not mind it enough, I am so amused with everything. I
cannot help it."
"That's right. Now, Dolly"
"Yes, father"
"I should like to know what you have been thinking of all this while. I
have been watching the smiles coming and going."
"I do not know that I was thinking at all--until just now; just before
you spoke."
"And of what then?"
"It came to me, I do not know why, a question. We have passed so many
people who seemed as if they were enjoying themselves,--like me;--and
so many pretty-looking places, where people might live happy, one would
think; and the question somehow came to me, father, what I am going to
do with my own life?"
"Do with it?" said Mr. Copley astonished; "why enjoy it, Dolly. Every
day as much as to-day."
"But perhaps one cannot enjoy life always," said Dolly thoughtfully.
"All you can, then, dear; all you can. There is nothing to prevent
_your_ always enjoying it. You will have money enough; and that is the
main thing. There is nothing to hinder your enjoying yourself."
"But, father, don't you think one ought to do more with one's life than
that?"
"Yes; you'll marry one of these days, and so make somebody else enjoy
himself."
"What would become of you and mother then?" asked Dolly shyly.
"We'd get along," said Mr. Copley. "What we care about, is to see you
enjoy life, Dolly. Are you enjoying it now, puss?"
"Very much, father."
"Then so am I."
The carriage left the high road here, and Dolly's attention was again,
seemingly, all bestowed on what she saw from its windows. Her father
watched her, and could not observe that she was either timid or excited
in the prospect of the new scenes upon which she was about to enter.
Her big brown eyes were wide open, busy and interested, at the same
time wholly self-forgetful. Self-forgetful they remained when arriving
at the house, and when she was introduced to the family; and her manner
consequently left nothing to be desired. Yet house and grounds and
establishment were on a scale to which Dolly hitherto had been entirely
unaccustomed.
There was a small dinner party gathered, and Dolly was taken in to
table by young Mr. St. Leger, the son of their host. Dolly had seen
this gentleman before, and so in this concourse of strangers she felt
more at home with him than with anybody. Young Mr. St. Leger was a very
handsome fellow; with regular features and soft, rather lazy, blue
eyes, which, however, were not insipid. Dolly rather liked him; the
expression of his features was gentle and good, so were his manners. He
seemed well pleased with his choice of a companion, and did his best to
make Dolly pleased also.
"You are new in this part of the world?" he remarked to her.
"I am new in any part of the world," said Dolly, dimpling, as she did
when something struck her funnily. "I am not very old yet."
"No, I see," said her companion, laughing a little, though in some
doubt whether he or she had made the fun. "How do you like us? Or
haven't you been long enough here to judge?"
"I have been in England a good many months."
"Then is it a fair question?"
"All questions are fair," said Dolly. "I like some things here very
much."
"I should be delighted to know what."
"I'll tell you," said Dolly's father, who sat opposite and had caught
the question. "She likes an old suit of armour or a collection of old
stones in the form of an arch or a gateway; and in the presence of the
crown jewels she was almost as bad as that Scotch lady who worshipped
the old Regalia of the northern kingdom. Only it was the antiquity that
Dolly worshipped, you know; not the royalty."
"What is there in antiquity?" said Mr. St. Leger, turning his eyes
again curiously to Dolly. "Old things were young once; how are they any
better for being old?"
"Not any better; only more interesting."
"Pray tell me why."
"Think of what those old stones have seen."
"Pardon me; they have not _seen_ anything."
"Think of the eyes that have seen them, then. Or stand before one of
those old suits of armour in the Tower, and think where it has been.
Think of the changes that have come; and what a strange witness it is
for the things that were and have passed away."
"I am more interested in the present," said the young man. "I perceive
you are romantic."
Dolly was silent. She thought one of those halls of old armour in the
Tower was in its attractions very far beyond the present dinner table;
although indeed this amused her. Presently her companion began again
and gave her details about all the guests; who they were, and how they
happened to be there; and then suddenly asked her if she had ever been
to the races? Dolly inquired what races; and was informed that the
Epsom races were just beginning. Would she like to go to them? was
inquired eagerly.
Dolly had no idea what was the real character of the show she was asked
about; and she answered in accordance with her general craving to see
everything. Nevertheless she was somewhat surprised, when the gentlemen
came up from dinner, to hear the proposition earnestly made; made by
both Mr. and Mrs. St. Leger; that she and her father should go with
them the next day to the Epsom races; and she was greatly astonished to
hear her father agree to the proposal, although the acceptance of it
involved the staying another day away from home and the sleeping a
second night at the St. Leger place. But Dolly was not consulted. The
family expressed their pleasure in undoubted terms, and young Mr. St.
Leger's blue eyes had a gleam of satisfaction in them, as he assured
Dolly that now they would "show her something of interest in the
present."
Dolly was the youngest guest in the house, and by all rules the one
entitled to least consideration; yet she went to sleep that night in a
chamber the most superb she had ever inhabited in her life. She looked
around her with wonder at the richness of every matter of detail, and a
little private query how _she_, little Dolly Copley, came to be so
lodged? Her mother would have no reason _here_ to complain of want of
due regard. And all the evening there had been no such complaint to
make. People had been very kind, Dolly said to herself as she was
falling asleep. But how _could_ her father have consented to stay
another day, for any races in the world--leaving her mother alone? But
she could not help it; and no doubt the next day would be amusing;
to-day had been amusing--and Dolly's thoughts went no further.
The next morning everybody drove or rode to the races. Dolly herself
was taken by young Mr. St. Leger, along with one of his sisters, in an
elegant little vehicle for which she knew no name. It was very
comfortable, and they drove very fast--till the crowd hindered them,
that is; and certainly Dolly was amused. All was novel and strange to
her; the concourse, the equipages, the people, the horses, even before
they arrived at the race grounds. There a good position was secured,
and Dolly saw the whole of that day's performances. Mr. St. Leger
attended to her unremittingly; he and his sister explained everything,
and pointed out the people of mark within their range of vision; his
blue eyes grew quite animated, and looked into Dolly's to see what they
could find there, of response or otherwise. And Dolly's eyes were grave
and wide-awake, intent, very busy, very lively, but how far they were
brightened with pleasure he could not tell. They were bright, he saw
that; fearless, pure, sweet eyes, that yet baffled him; no trace of
self-consciousness or self-seeking was to be found in them; and young
St. Leger stood a little in awe, as common men will, before a face so
uncommon. He ventured no direct question for the satisfying of his
curiosity until they had returned, and dinner was over. Indeed he did
not venture it then; it was his father who asked it. He too had
observed the simple, well-bred, lovely little maiden, and had a little
curiosity on his own part.
"Well, Miss Copley--now you have seen Epsom, how do you like it?"
Dolly hesitated. "I have been very much interested, sir, thank you,"
she said gravely.
"But how do you _like_ it? Did you enjoy it?"
Dolly hesitated again. Finally smiled and confessed. "I was sorry for
the horses."
"Sorry for the horses!" her host repeated. "What for?"
"Yes, what for?" added the younger St. Leger. "They were not ill
treated."
"No,--" said Dolly doubtfully, "perhaps not,--but they were running
very hard, and for nothing."
"For nothing!" echoed Mr. St. Leger again. "It was for a good many
thousand pounds. There's many a one was there to-day who wishes they
had run for nothing!"
"But after all, that is for nothing," said Dolly. "It is no good to
anybody."
"Except to those that win," said the old gentleman. "Except to those
that win!" Probably _he_ had won.
Dolly wanted to get out of the conversation. She made no answer.
Another gentleman spoke up, and opined, were it not for the money won
and lost, the whole thing would fail of its attraction. It would be no
sport indeed, if the horses ran _for nothing_. "Do you have no races
in--a--your country?" he asked Dolly.
Dolly believed so. She had never been present at them.
"Nothing like Epsom," said her father. "We shall have nothing to show
like that for some time. But Dolly takes practical views. I saw her
smiling out of the windows, as we drove along, coming here yesterday;
and I asked her what she was thinking of? I expected to hear her say,
the beauty of the plantations, or the richness of the country, or the
elegance and variety of the equipages we passed. She answered me she
was thinking _what she should do with her life!_"
There was a general gentle note of amusement audible through the room,
but old Mr. St. Leger laughed out in a broad "ha, ha."
"What did you conclude, my dear?" said he. "What did you conclude? I am
interested to know."
"I could not conclude then, sir," said Dolly, bearing the laugh very
well, with a pretty little peach-blossom blush coming upon her cheeks.
"'Tisn't difficult to know," the old gentleman went on, not unkindly
watching Dolly's face play. "There is one pretty certain lot for a
pretty young woman. She will manage her household, take care of her
husband, and bring up her children,--one of these days."
"That is not precisely the ambition of all pretty young women,"
remarked one of the party; while Mrs. St. Leger good humouredly drew
Dolly down to a seat beside her and engrossed her attention.
"You meant the words perhaps in another sense, more practical, that
your father did not think of. You were thinking maybe what profession
you would follow?"
"I beg your pardon, ma'am!" said Dolly, quite perplexed now. "How do
you mean, profession?"
"Yes; perhaps you were thinking of being a governess some day, or a
teacher, or something of that sort; were you?"
Dolly's face dimpled all over in a way that seemed to young St. Leger
the very prettiest, winningest, most uncommon loveliness that his eyes
had ever been blessed with. Said eyes were inseparable from Dolly; he
had no attention but for her looks and words; and his mother knew as
much, while she too looked at the girl and waited for her answer.
"Oh no," Dolly said; "I was not thinking of any such thing. My father
does not wish me to do anything of the kind."
"Then what _did_ you mean, my dear?"
Dolly lifted a pair of sweet grave eyes to the face of her questioner;
a full, rather bloated face, very florid; with an expression of eyes
kindly indeed, but unresting, dissatisfied; or if that is too strong a
word, not content. Dolly looked at all this and answered--
"I don't want to live merely to live, ma'am."
"Don't you? What more do you want? To live pleasantly, of course; for
not to do _that_, is not what I call living."
"I was not thinking of pleasant living. But--I do not want my life to
be like those horses running to-day," said Dolly smiling; "for nothing;
of no use."
"Don't you think a woman is of use and fills her place, my dear, who
looks after her household and attends to her family, and does her duty
by society?"
"Yes," said Dolly hesitating,--"but that is not enough." The girl was
thinking of her own mother at the moment.
"Not enough? Why, yes, it is enough. That is a woman's place and
business. What else would you do?"
Dolly was in some embarrassment now. She must answer, for Mrs. St.
Leger was waiting for it; but her answer could not be understood. Her
eye took in again the rich appliances for present enjoyment which
filled the room, above, below, and around her; and then she said, her
eye coming back--
"I would like my life to be good for something that would not pass
away."
"Not pass away? Why, everything passes away, my child" (and there came
a sigh here),--"in time. The thing is to make the best of them while we
have them."
Is that all? thought Dolly, as she noticed the untested, rather sad
look of her hostess's face; and she wished she could say more, but she
dared not. Then young Mr. St. Leger bent forward, and inquired what she
could be thinking of that would _not_ pass away? His mother saw the
look with which his blue eyes sought the face of the little stranger;
and turned away with another sigh, born half of sympathy with her boy's
feeling and half of jealousy against the subject of it. Dolly saw the
look too, but did not comprehend it. She simply wondered why these
people put her through the catechism so?
"What could you be thinking of?" St. Leger repeated, sliding into the
seat his mother had quitted.
"Don't you know anything that will last?" Dolly retorted.
"No," said the young man, laughing. "Do you? Except that I have heard
that 'A thing of beauty is a joy forever.'"
This, which was a remarkable flight for St. Leger, was lost upon simple
Dolly.
"Oh, I know that is true," she answered; "but that is just a way of
speaking. It would not be a joy to me, if I had not something else to
hold to. I am sorry for you."
"Really? I wish I could think that. It would be delightful to have you
sorry for me."
"It would be much better not to need it."
"I don't know about that. Perhaps, if you were very sorry for me, you
would try to teach me better."
"Perhaps; but I shall not have time. I suppose we shall go away very
early in the morning."
"I should like to show you the gardens, first."
"Haven't we seen them?"
"Why, of course not. All that you have seen is a little shrubbery and a
bit of the park. Suppose we go over the gardens in the morning?"
"I am sure we shall return home immediately after breakfast."
"Before breakfast then? Why not?"
This plan went into effect. It was an occasion of great pleasure to
both parties. No better time could be for seeing the utmost beauty of
the flowers; and Dolly wandered in what was to her a wilderness of an
enchanted land. Breakfast was forgotten; and young St. Leger was so
charmed with this perfectly fresh, simple, and lively nature, that he
for his part was willing to forget it indefinitely. Dolly's utter
delight, and her intelligent, quick apprehension, the sparkle in her
eye, the happy colour in her cheeks, made her to his fancy the rarest
thing he had ever seen. The gardener, who was summoned to give
information of which his young master was not possessed, entertained
quite the same opinion; and thanks to his admiring gratification Dolly
went back to the house the possessor of a most superb bouquet, which he
had cut for her and offered through Mr. St. Leger.
There were some significant half smiles around the breakfast table, as
the young pair and the flowers made their appearance. St. Leger braved
them; Dolly did not see them. Her sweet eyes were full of the blissful
enchantment still. Immediately after breakfast, as she had said, her
father took leave.
Mrs. Copley had awaited their coming in a mood half irritation, half
gratification. The latter conquered when she saw Dolly.
"Now tell me all about it!" she said, before Dolly even could take off
her bonnet.
"She went to the races," said Mr. Copley.
"That's a queer place for Dolly to go, Mr. Copley."
"Not at all. Everybody goes that can go."
"I think it's a queer place for young ladies to go," persisted the
mother.
"It is a queer place enough for anybody, if you come to that; but no
worse for them than for others; and it is they make the scene so pretty
as it is."
"I can't imagine how there should be anything pretty in seeing horses
run to death!" said Mrs. Copley.
"I just said it is the pretty girls that give the charm," said her
husband. "Though _I_ can see some beauty in a fine horse, and in good
riding; and they understand riding, those Epsom jockeys."
"Jockeys!" his wife repeated. "I don't want to hear you talk about
jockeys, Mr. Copley."
"I am not going to, my dear. I give up the field to Dolly."
"Mother, the first thing was the place. It is a most beautiful place."
"The race-ground?"
"No, no, mother; Mr. St. Leger's place. 'The Peacocks,' they call it."
"What do they give it such a ridiculous name for?"
"I don't know. Perhaps they used to have a great many peacocks. But the
place is the most beautiful place I ever saw. Mother, we were half an
hour driving from the lodge at the park gate to the house."
"The road so bad?"
"So _long_, mother; think of it; half an hour through the park woods,
until we carne out upon the great lawn dotted with the noblest trees
you ever saw."
"Better than the trees in Boston common? I guess not," said Mrs. Copley.
"Those are good trees, mother, but nothing to these. These are just
magnificent."
"I don't see why fine trees cannot grow as well on American ground as
on English," said Mrs. Copley incredulously.
"Give them time enough," put in her husband.
"Time!"
"Yes. We are a new country, comparatively, my dear. These old oaks here
have been growing for hundreds of years."
"And what should hinder them from growing hundreds of years over there?
I suppose the _ground_ is as old as England; if Columbus didn't
discover it all at once."
"The ground," said Mr. Copley, eyeing the floor between his
boots,--"yes, the ground; but it takes more than ground to make large
trees. It takes good ground, and favouring climate, and culture; or at
least to be let alone. Now we don't let things alone in America."
"I know _you_ don't," said his wife. "Well, Dolly, go on with your
story."
"Well, mother,--there were these grand old trees, and beautiful grass
under them, and cattle here and there, and the house showing in the
distance. I did not like the house so very much, when we came to it; it
is not old; but it is exceedingly handsome, and most beautifully
furnished. I never had such a room in my life, as I have slept in these
two nights."
"And yet you don't like it!" put in Mr. Copley.
"I like it," said Dolly slowly. "I like all the comfort of it; but I
don't think it is very pretty, father. It's very _new_."
"New!" said her father. "What's the harm of a thing's being new? And
what is the charm of its being old?"
"I don't know," said Dolly thoughtfully; "but I like it. Then, mother,
came the dinner; and the dinner was like the house."
"That don't tell me anything," exclaimed Mrs. Copley. "What was the
house like?"
"Mother, you go first into a great hall, set all round with marble
figures--statues--and with a heavy staircase going up at one side. It's
all marble. But oh, the flower garden is lovely!"
"Well, tell me about the house," said Mrs. Copley. "And the dinner. Who
was there?"
"I don't know," said Dolly; "quite a company. There were one or two
foreign gentlemen; a count somebody and a baron somebody; there was an
English judge, and his wife, and two or three other ladies and
gentlemen."
"How did you like the gentlemen, Dolly?" her father asked here.
"I had hardly anything to do with them, except the two Mr. St. Legers."
"How did you like _them?_ I suppose, on your principle, you would tell
me that you liked the _old_ one?"
"Never mind them," said Mrs. Copley; "go on about the dinner. What did
you have?"
"Oh, everything, mother; and the most beautiful fruit at dessert; fruit
from their own hothouses; and I saw the hothouses, afterwards. Most
beautiful! the purple and white grapes were hanging in thick clusters
all over the vines; and quantities of different sorts of pines were
growing in another hothouse. I had a bunch of Frontignacs this morning
before breakfast, father; and I never had grapes taste so good."
"Yes, you must have wanted something," said Mr. Copley; "wandering
about among flowers and fruit till ten o'clock without anything to eat!"
"Poor Mr. St. Leger!" said Dolly. "But he was very kind. They were all
very kind. If they only would not drink wine so!"
"Wine!" Mrs. Copley exclaimed.
"It was all dinner time; it began with the soup, and it did not end
with the fruit, for the gentlemen sat on drinking after we had left
them. And they had been drinking all dinner time; the decanters just
went round and round."
"Nonsense, Dolly!" her father said; "you are unaccustomed to the world,
that is all. There was none but the most moderate drinking."
"It was all dinner time, father."
"That is the custom of gentlemen here. It is always so. Tell your
mother about the races."
"I don't like the races."
"Why not?"
"Well, tell me what they were, at any rate," said Mrs. Copley. "It is
the least you can do."
"I don't know how to tell you," said Dolly. "I will try. Imagine a
great flat plain, mother, level as far as the eye can see. Imagine a
straight line marked out, where the horses are to run; and at the end
of it a post, which is the goal, and there is the judges' stand. All
about this course, on both sides, that is towards the latter part of
the course, fancy rows of carriages, drawn up as close as they can
stand, the horses taken out; and on these carriages a crowd of people
packed as thick as they can find room to sit and stand. They talk and
laugh and discuss the horses. By and by you hear a cry that the horses
have set off; and then everybody looks to see them coming, with all
sorts of glasses and telescopes; and everybody is still, waiting and
watching, until I suppose the horses get near enough for people to
begin to judge how the race will turn out; and then begins the
fearfullest uproar you ever heard, everybody betting and taking bets.
_Everybody_ seemed to be doing it, even ladies. And with the betting
comes the shouting, and the cursing, and the cheering on this one and
that one; it was a regular Babel. Even the ladies betted."
"Every one does it," said Mr. Copley.
"And the poor horses come running, and driven to run as hard as they
can; beautiful horses too, some of them; running to decide all those
bets! I don't think it is an amusement for civilised people."
"Why not?" said her father.
"It is barbarous. There is no sense in it. If the white horse beats the
black, I'll pay you a thousand pounds; but if the black horse beats the
white, you shall pay me two thousand. Is there any sense in that?"
"Some sense in a thousand pound."
"Lost"--said Dolly.
"It is better not to lose, certainly."
"But somebody must lose. And people bet in a heat, before they know
what they ought to say; and bet more than they have to spare; I saw it
yesterday."
"_You_ didn't bet, Mr. Copley?" said his wife.
"A trifle. My dear, when one is in Rome, one must do as the Romans do."
"Did you lose?"
"I gained, a matter of fifty pounds."
"Who did you gain it from, father?"
"Lawrence St. Leger."
"He has no right to bet with his father's money."
"Perhaps it is his own. I will give you twenty pound of it, Dolly, to
do what you like with."
But Dolly would have none of it. If it was to be peace money, it made
no peace with her.