The End of a Coil

"This is something for you and me to consider; for you and me, and other women who can do anything. Christina, did you ever think about the use of wine?"

"Wine?" echoed Miss Thayer, a good deal mystified. "The use of it? I don't know any use of it, except to give people, gentlemen, something to talk of at dinner. Oh, it is good in sickness, I suppose. What are you thinking of?"

"I am thinking of the harm it does," said Dolly in a low voice.

"Harm? What harm? You are not one of those absurd people I have heard of, who cut down their apple-trees for fear the apples will be made into cider?"

"I have no apple-trees to cut down," said Dolly. "But don't you know, Christina, that there is such a thing as drinking too much wine? and what comes of it?"

"Not among our sort of people," said Christina. "I know there are such things as drunkards; but they are in the lower classes, who drink whisky and gin. Not among gentlemen."

Dolly choked, and turned her face away to hide the eyes full of tears.

"Too much wine?" Christina repeated. "One may have too much of anything. Too much fire will burn up your house; yet fire is a good thing."

"That's only burning up your house," said Dolly sorrowfully.

"Only burning up your house! Dolly Copley, what are you thinking of?"

"I am thinking of something infinitely worse. I am thinking of a man losing his manhood; of families losing their stay and their joy, because the father, or the husband, or the brother, has lost himself! – gone down below his standing as an intellectual creature; – become a mere animal, given up to low pleasures which make him sink lower and lower in the scale of humanity. I am thinking of his loss and of their loss, Christina. I am thinking of the dreadfulness of being ashamed of the dearest thing you have, and the way hearts break under it. And don't you know that when the love of wine and the like gets hold of a person, it is stronger than he is? It makes a slave of him, so that he cannot help himself."

Christina's thoughts made a rapid flight over all the persons for whom Dolly could possibly fear such a fate, or in whom she could possibly have seen such an example. But Mr. St. Leger had the clear, fresh colour of perfect health and condition; Mr. Copley loved wine evidently, but drank it like a gentleman, and gave, to her eyes, no sign of being enslaved. What could Dolly be thinking of? Her mother was out of the question.

"I don't make out what you are at, Dolly," she said. "Such things do not happen in our class of society."

"Yes, they do. They happen in every class. And the highest ought to set an example to the lowest."

"No use if they did. Anyhow, Dolly, it is nothing you and I can meddle with."

"I think we ought not to have wine on our tables."

"Mercy! Everybody does that."

"It is offering temptation."

"To whom? Our friends are not that sort of people."

"How do you know but they may be? How can you tell but the taste or the tendency may be where you least think of it?"

"You don't mean that Mr. St. Leger has anything of that sort?" said Christina, facing round upon her.

"No more than other people, so far as I know. I am speaking in general, Christina. The thing is in the world; and we, I do think, we whose example would influence people, – I suppose everybody's example influences somebody else – I think we ought to do what we can."

"And not have wine on our dinner-tables!"

"Would that be so very dreadful?"

"It would be very inconvenient, I can tell you, and very disagreeable. Fancy! no wine on the table. No one could understand it. And how our dinner-tables would look, Dolly, with the wine-glasses and the decanters taken off! And then, what would people talk about? Wine is such a help in getting through with a dinner-party. People who do not know anything else, and cannot talk of anything else, can taste wine; and have plenty to say about its colour, and its bouquet, and its age, and its growth, and its manufacture, and where it can be got genuine, and how it can be adulterated. And so one gets through with the dinner quite comfortably."

"I should not want to see people who knew no more than that," said Dolly.

"Oh, but you must."

"Why?"

"And it does not do to be unfashionable."

"Why, Christina! Do you recollect what is said in the epistle of John – 'The world knoweth us not'? I do not see how a Christian can be fashionable. To be fashionable, one must follow the ways of the world."

"Well, we must follow some of them," cried Christina, flaring up, "or people will not have anything to do with you."

"That's what Christ said, – 'Because ye are not of the world, … therefore the world hateth you.'"

"Do you like to have people hate you?"

"No; but rather that than have Jesus say I do not belong to Him."

"Dolly," said Christina, "you are very high-flown! That might just do for one of Sandie's speeches."

"I am glad Mr. Shubrick is such a wise man."

"He's just a bit too wise for me. You see, I am not so superior. I should like to take him down a peg. And I – will if he don't come soon."

He did not come in time for the next day's pleasure-party; so the young ladies had only Mr. St. Leger and Mr. Thayer to accompany them. Mrs. Copley "went on no such tramps," she said; and Mrs. Thayer avowed she was tired of them. The expedition took all day, for they went early and came back late, to avoid the central heat of midday. It was an extremely beautiful little journey; the road commanding a long series of magnificent views, almost from their first setting out. They went on donkeys, which was a favourite way with Dolly; at Massa they stopped for a cup of coffee; they climbed Monte San Costanzo; interviewed the hermit and enjoyed the prospect; and finally settled themselves for as pleasant a rest as possible among the myrtles on the solitary point of the coast. From here their eyes had a constant regale. The blue Mediterranean spread out before them, Capri in the middle distance, and the beauties of the shore nearer by, were an endless entertainment for Dolly. Christina declared she had seen it all before; Mr. Thayer found nothing worthy of much attention unless it had antiquities to be examined; and the fourth member of the party was somewhat too busy with human and social interests to leave his attention free.

Mr. St. Leger had been now for a long time very unobtrusive in his attentions to Dolly, and Dolly partly hoped he had given her up; but that was a mistake. Perhaps he thought it was only a matter of time, for Dolly to get acquainted with him and accustomed to him; perhaps he thought himself sure of his game, if the fish had only line enough. Having the powerful support of Dolly's father and mother, all worldly interests on the side of his suit, a person and presence certainly unobjectionable, to say the least; how could a girl like Dolly, in the long run, remain unimpressed? He would give her time. Meanwhile, Mr. St. Leger was enjoying himself; seeing her daily and familiarly; he could wait comfortably. It would appear by all this that Lawrence was not an ardent man; but constitutions are different; there is an ardour of attack, and there is an ardour of persistence; and the latter, I think, belonged to him. Besides, he had sense enough to see that a too eager pressing of his cause with Dolly would ruin all. So he had waited, not discontentedly, and bided his time. Now, however, he began to think it desirable on many accounts to have the question decided. Mr. Copley would not stay much longer in Italy, Lawrence was certain, and the present way of life would come to an end; if his advantages were ever to bear fruit, it should be ripe now. Moreover, one or two other, and seemingly inconsistent, considerations came in. Lawrence admired Miss Thayer. Her beauty was even more striking, to his fancy, than Dolly's; if it were also more like other beauties he had seen. She had money too, and Dolly had none. Truly, Mr. St. Leger had enough of his own; but when did ever a man with enough not therefore desire more? He admired Christina very much; she suited him; if Dolly should prove after all obdurate, here was his chance for making himself amends. Cool! for an ardent lover; but Mr. St. Leger was of a calm temperament, and these suggestions did come into his mind back of his liking for Dolly.

This liking was strong upon him the day of the excursion to the Punta di Campanella. Of necessity he was Christina's special attendant, Mr. Thayer being Dolly's. Many girls would not have relished such an arrangement, Lawrence knew; his sisters would not. And Dolly was in an acme of delight. Lawrence watched her whenever they came near each other, and marvelled at the sweet, childish-womanish face. It was in a ripple of pleasure; the brown, considerate eyes were sparkling, roving with quick, watchful glances over everything, and losing as few as possible of the details of the way. Talking to Mr. Thayer now and then, Lawrence saw her, with the most innocent, sweet mouth in the world; her smile and that play of lip and eye bewitched him whenever he got a glimpse of it. The play of Christina's features was never so utterly free, so absent from thought of self, so artless in its fun. Now and then, too, there came the soft, low ring of a clear voice, in laughter or talking, bearing the same characteristics of a sweet spirit and a simple heart; and yet, when in repose, Dolly's face was strong in its sense and womanliness. The combination held Mr. St. Leger captive. I do not know how he carried on his needful attentions to his companion; with a mechanical necessity, I suppose; when all the while he was watching Dolly and contrasting the two girls. He was not such a fool as not to know which indications promised him the best wife; or if not him, the man who could get her. And he resolved, if a chance offered, he would speak to Dolly that very day. For here was Christina, if his other hope failed. He was cool; nevertheless, he was in earnest.

They had climbed up Monte San Costanzo and admired the view. They had rested, and enjoyed a capital lunch among the myrtles on the point. It was when they were on their way home in the afternoon, and not till then, that the opportunity presented itself which he had wished for. On the way home, the order of march was broken up. Christina sometimes dropped St. Leger to ride with her father; sometimes called Dolly to be her companion; and at last, declaring that she did not want Mr. St. Leger to have a sense of sameness about the day, she set off with her father ahead, begging Dolly to amuse the other gentleman.

Which Dolly made not the least effort to do. The scenery was growing more lovely with every minute's lengthening shadows; and she rode along, giving all her attention to it, not making to Mr. St. Leger even the remarks she might have made to Mr. Thayer. The change of companions to her was not welcome. St. Leger found the burden of conversation must lie upon him.

"We have not seen much of each other for a long time," he began.

"Only two or three times a day," said Dolly.

"And you think that is enough, perhaps!" said Lawrence hastily.

"Don't you think more would have a tendency to produce what Christina calls a 'sense of sameness'?" said Dolly, turning towards him a face all dimpled with fun.

"That is according to circumstances. The idea is not flattering. But, Miss Dolly," said Lawrence, pulling himself up, "in all this while – these months – that we have been travelling together, we have had time to learn to know each other pretty well. You must have been able to make up your mind about me."

"Which part of your character?"

"Miss Dolly," said Lawrence with some heat, "you know what I mean."

"Do I? But I did not know that I had to make up my mind about anything concerning you; I thought that was done long ago."

"And you do not like me any better now than you did then?"

"Perhaps I do," said Dolly slowly. "I always liked you, Mr. St. Leger, and I had cause. You have been a very kind friend to us."

"For your sake, Dolly."

"I am sorry for that," she said.

"And I have waited all this time in the hope that you would get accustomed to me, and your objections would wear away. You know what your father and mother wish concerning us. Does their wish not weigh with you?"

"No," said Dolly very quietly. "This is my affair, not theirs."

"It is their affair so far as your interests are involved. And I do not wish to praise myself; but you know they think that those interests would be secured by a marriage with me. And I believe I could make you happy, Dolly."

Dolly shook her head. "How could you?" she said. "We belong to two opposite parties, and are following two different lines of life. You would not like my way, and I should not like yours. How could either of us be happy?"

"Even granting all that," said Lawrence, "why should you not bear with my peculiarities, and I with yours, and neither be the worse? That is very frequently done."

"Is it? I do not think it ought to be done."

"Let us prove that it can be. I will never interfere with you, Dolly."

"Yes, you would," said Dolly, dimpling all over again. "Do you think you would make up your mind to have no wine in your cellar or on your table? Take that for one thing. I should have no wine on mine."

"That's a crotchet of yours," said he, smiling at her: he thought if this were all, the thing might be managed.

"That is only one thing, Mr. St. Leger," Dolly went on very gravely now. "I should be unfashionable in a hundred ways, and you would not like that. I should spend money on objects and for causes that you would not care about nor agree to. I am telling you all this to reconcile you to doing without me."

"Your refusal is absolute, then?"

"Yes."

"You would not bring up these extraneous things, Dolly, if you had any love for me."

"I do not know why that should make any difference. It might make it hard."

"Then you have no love for me?"

"I am afraid not," said Dolly gently. "Not what you mean. And without that, you would not wish for a different answer from me."

"Yes, I would!" said he. "All that would come; but you know your own business best."

Dolly thought she did, and the proposition remained uncontroverted. Therewith the discourse died; and the miles that remained were made in unsocial silence. Dolly feared she had given some pain, but doubted it could not be very great; and she was glad to have the explanation over. Perhaps the pain was more than she knew, although Lawrence certainly was not a desperate wooer; nevertheless, he was disappointed, and he was mortified, and mortification is hard to a man. For the matter of that, it is hard to anybody. It was not till the villa occupied by the Thayers was close before them that he spoke again.

"Do you expect to stay much longer in Italy?"

"I am afraid not," Dolly answered.

"I have reason to think Mr. Copley will not. Indeed, I know as much. I thought you might like to be informed."

Dolly said nothing. Her eyes roved over the beautiful bay, almost with an echo of Eve's "Must I then leave thee, Paradise?" in her heart. The smoke curling up from Vesuvius caught the light; little sails skimming over the sea reflected it; the sweetness of thousands of roses and orange blossoms, and countless other flowers, filled all the air; it was a time and a scene of nature's most abundant and beautiful bounty. Dolly checked her donkey, and for a few minutes stood looking; then with a brave determination that she would enjoy it all as much as she could while she had it, she went into the house.

CHAPTER XXIX

WHITHER NOW?

The days that followed were full of pleasure; and Dolly kept to her resolution, not to spoil the present by care about the future. Indeed, the balmy air and the genial light and all the wealth that nature has bestowed upon southern Italy, were a help to such a resolution. The infinite lavish fulness of the present quite laughed at the idea of barrenness or want anywhere in time to come. Dolly knew that was nature's subtle flattery, not to be trusted, and yet she willingly admitted the flattery. Nothing should spoil these days.

One evening she and Christina were sitting again on the bank, wondering at the marvellous sunset panorama.

"How difficult it is, looking at this," said Dolly, "to believe that there is want and misery in the world."

"Why should you believe it?" said Christina. "I don't think there is, except where people have brought it upon themselves."

"People bring it upon other people. But to look at this, one would say it was impossible. And this is how the world was meant to be, I suppose."

"What do you mean? how?" said Christina. "It is rich to hear you talk."

"Oh, look at it, Christina! Look at the colours and the lights and the sparkle everywhere, the perfect wealth of loveliness in form as well as colour; and if you think a minute you will know that He who made it all meant people to be happy, and meant them to be as full of happiness as the earth is full of beauty."

"I don't see 'lights' and 'colours' so much as you do, Dolly; I am not an artist; but if God meant them to be happy, why aren't they happy?"

"Sin," said Dolly.

"What's the use of thinking about it? You and I cannot help it."

"Christina, that is not true. We can help some of it."

"By giving money, you mean? Well, we do, whenever we see occasion; but there is no end of the cheatery."

"Giving money will not take away the world's misery, Christina."

"What will, then? It will do a good deal."

"It will do a good deal, but it does not touch the root of the trouble."

"What does, Dolly? – you dreamer."

"The knowledge of Christ."

"Well, it is the business of clergymen and missionaries to give them that."

"Prove it."

"Why, that's what they are for."

"Do you think there are enough of them to preach the good news to every creature?"

"Well, then, there ought to be more."

"And in the meantime? – Tell me, Christina, to whom was that command given, to preach the gospel to every creature?"

"To the apostles, of course!"

"Twelve men? Or eleven men, rather. They could not. No, it was given to all the disciples; and so, Christina, it was given to you, and to me."

"To preach the gospel!" said Christina.

"That is, just to tell the good news."

"And to whom do you propose we should tell it?"

"The command says, everybody."

"How can you and I do that, Dolly?"

"That is just what I am studying, Christina. I do not quite know. But when I look out on all this wonderful beauty, and see what it means, and think how miserable the world is, – just the very opposite, – I feel that I must do it, somehow or other."

Christina lifted her arms above her head and clapped her hands together. "Mad, mad!" she exclaimed – "you are just gone mad, Dolly. Oh, I wish you'd get married, and forget all your whimsies. The right sort of man would make you forget them. Haven't you found the right sort of man yet?"

"The right sort of man would help me carry them out."

"It must be my Sandie, then; there isn't another match for you in extravagant ideas in all this world. What does Mr. St. Leger think of them?"

"I never asked him. I suppose he would take very much your view."

"And you don't care what view he takes?" said Christina, looking sharply at her.

"Not in the least. Except for his own sake."

The one drawback upon the perfect felicity of this visit was, that the said Sandie did not appear. They could not wait for him; they went on the most charming of excursions, by sea and land, wishing for him; in which wish Dolly heartily shared. It had been one of the pleasures she had promised herself in coming to the Thayers' that she should see Mr. Shubrick again. He had interested her singularly, and even taken not a little hold of her fancy. So she was honestly disappointed when at last a note came from him, saying that he found it impossible to join the party.

"That means just that he has something on hand that he calls 'duty' – which anybody else would put off or hand over," said Christina, pouting.

"Duty is a very good reason," said Dolly. "Don't you see, you are sure of Mr. Shubrick, that in any case he will not do what he thinks wrong? I think you ought to be a very happy woman, Christina."

But the excursions were made without Mr. Shubrick's social or material help. They went to Capri; they visited the grottoes; nay, they made a party to go up Vesuvius. All that was to be seen, they saw; and, as Christina declared, they left nothing undone that they could do. Then came the breaking up.

"Are you expecting to go back to that stuffy little place at Sorrento?" Mr. Copley asked. It was the evening before their departure, and all the party were sitting, scattered about upon the verandah.

"Father!" cried Dolly. "It is the airiest, floweriest, sunniest, brightest, most delightful altogether house, that ever took lodgers in!"

"It certainly wasn't stuffy, Mr. Copley," said his wife.

"Dolly likes it because you couldn't get a glass of good wine in the house. Whatever the rest of humanity like, she makes war upon. I conclude you are reckoning upon going back there, my wife and daughter?"

"Are not you, Mr. Copley?" his wife asked.

"I must be excused."

"Then where are you going?"

"Home."

"Home!" exclaimed Mrs. Copley. "Do you mean home? Boston?"

"A Boston woman thinks Boston is the centre of the universe, you may notice," said Mr. Copley, turning to Mr. Thayer. "It's a curious peculiarity. No matter what other cities on the face of the earth you show her, her soul turns back to Boston."

"Don't say anything against Boston," said Mrs. Thayer; "it's a good little place. I know, when Mr. Thayer first carried me there, it took me a while to get accustomed to it; – things on a different scale, you know, and looked at from a different point of view; but I soon found admirers, and then friends. Oh, I assure you, Boston and I were very fond of each other in those days; and though I lost my claims to admiration a long time ago, I have kept my friends."

"I have no doubt the admirers are still there too," said Mr. Copley. "Does Mrs. Thayer mean to say she has no admirers? I profess myself one!"

"Christina takes the admiration now-a-days. I am contented with that."

"And so you conquer by proxy."

"Mr. Copley," here put in his wife, "if you do not mean America by 'home,' what do you mean? and where are you going?"

"Where my home has been for a number of years. England – London."

"But you have given up your office?"

"I am half sorry, that is a fact."

"Then what should you do in London?"

"My dear, of the many hundred thousands who call London their home, very few have an office."

"But they have business of some kind?"

"That is a Boston notion. Did you ever observe, Thayer, that a Massachusetts man has no idea of life without business? It is the reason why he is in the world, to him; it never occurs to him that play might be occasionally useful. I declare! I believe they don't know the meaning of the word in America; it has dropped out, like a forgotten art."

"But, father," Dolly spoke up now, "if you are going to London, mother and I cannot possibly go to Sorrento."

"I don't quite see the logic of that."

"Why, we cannot be here in Italy quite alone."

"I'll leave you St. Leger to take care of you and bring you back; as he took you away."

"I should be very happy to fall in with that plan," said Lawrence slowly; "but I fear I cannot make it out. I have been making arrangements to go into Greece, seeing that I am so near it. And I may quite possibly spend another winter in Rome."

There was a pause, and when Mr. Copley spoke again there was another sound in his voice. It was not his will to betray it, but Dolly heard the chagrin and disappointment.

"Well," said he, "such independent travellers as you two ladies can do pretty comfortably alone in that paragon of lodging-houses."

"But not make the journey home alone, father."

"When are you coming?"

"When you do, of course," said his wife.

Dolly knew it must be so and not otherwise. She sat still and down-hearted, looking abroad over the bay of Naples, over all the shores of which the moonlight was quivering or lying in still floods of calm beauty. From this, ay, and from everything that was like this, in either its fairness or its tranquillity, she must go. There had been a little lull in her cares since they came to Sorrento; the lull was over. Back to London! – And that meant, back to everything from which she had hoped to escape. How fondly she had hoped, once her father was away from the scene of his habits and temptations, he could be saved to himself and his family; and perhaps even lured back to America where he would be comparatively safe. Now where was that hope, or any other? Suddenly Dolly changed her place and sat down close beside Mr. Copley.