The End of a Coil — A Reader’s Guide

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Warner, Susan, 1819-1885 Project Gutenberg 2008 Not confirmed
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction; Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Sailors -- Juvenile fiction; Aunts -- Juvenile fiction; Courtship -- Juvenile fiction; Parent and child -- Juvenile fiction; Sick -- Juvenile fiction; Education -- Juvenile fiction Readers of public-domain and historical texts
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Words 171,909
Reading time 748 min
Text sections 18

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Susan Warner's 1880 novel follows Dolly, an American girl sent to live with her Aunt Hal in Philadelphia, then to England, where her clear hazel eyes and calm dignity unsettle suitor Lawrence St. Leger. The story contrasts American and English views on women's freedom and respect through dialogue and observation.
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I. DOLLY'S ARRIVAL II. CHRISTINA AND HER MOTHER III. THE MARINE DICTIONARY IV. THE "ACHILLES" V. THE PIECE OF ROPE VI. END OF SCHOOL TERM VII. PLAYTHINGS VIII. LONDON IX. THE PEACOCKS X. BRIERLEY COTTAGE XI. IN THE PARK XII. THE HOUSE XIII. PREACHING AND PRACTICE XIV. DIFFICULTIES XV. THE CONSUL'S OFFICE XVI. A FIGHT XVII. RUPERT XVIII. A SQUARE PARTY XIX. SEEING SIGHTS XX. LIMBURG XXI. VENICE XXII. MR. COPLEY XXIII. THE WINE SHOP XXIV. PAST GREATNESS XXV. CHRISTMAS EVE XXVI. NAPLES XXVII. SORRENTO XXVIII. AT THE VILLA XXIX. WHITHER NOW? XXX. DOWN HILL XXXI. HANDS FULL XXXII. THE NURSE XXXIII. UNDER AN OAK TREE XXXIV. UNDER THE SAME OAK XXXV. WAYS AND MEANS XXXVI. THIS PICTURE AND THAT

The door stands open of a handsome house in Walnut Street--the Walnut Street which belongs to the city of William Penn; and on the threshold stands a lady, with her hand up to her brows, shielding her eyes from the light. She is watching to see what will come out of a carriage just driving up to the curbstone. The carriage stops; there descends first the figure of a handsome, very comfortable-looking gentleman. Mrs. Eberstein's eyes pass over him very cursorily; she has seen him before; and there is hardly a curl on his handsome head which his wife does not know by heart. What comes next? Ah, that is she!--the figure of the expected one; and a little girl of some eleven years is helped carefully out by Mr. Eberstein, and comes up the steps to the waiting and watching lady. A delicate little thing, delicate in frame and feature alike, with a fair, childish face, framed in by loose light brown curls, and a pair of those clear, grave, wise, light hazel eyes which have the power of looking so young and so spiritually old at once. Those eyes are the first thing that Mrs. Eberstein sees, and they fascinate her already. Meanwhile kind arms are opened wide, and take the little one in.

"Come at last, darling! And do you remember your Aunt Hal? and are you half as glad to see her as she is to see you?" So Mrs. Eberstein gives her greeting, while she is drawing the child through the hall and into the parlour; gives it between kisses.

"Why, no," said her husband, who had followed. "Be reasonable, Harry. She cannot be so glad to see you as we are to see her. She has just come from a long stage-coach journey; and she is tired, and she is hungry; and she has left a world she knows, and has come to a world she doesn't know; hey, Dolly? isn't it true? Tell your Aunt Hal to stop asking questions, and give you something to eat."

"I have come to a world I don't know," repeated the little girl by way of answer, turning her serious small face to her questioner, while Mrs. Eberstein was busily taking off coat and hat and mufflers.

"Yes, that's what I say!" returned Mr. Eberstein. "How do you like the look of it, hey?"

"I wonder who is asking questions now!" said Mrs. Eberstein. "There, darling! now you are at home."

She finished with another kiss; but, nevertheless, I think the feeling that it was a strange world she had come to, was rather prominent in Dolly. She suddenly stooped to a great Maltese cat that was lying on the hearthrug, and I am afraid the eyes were glad of an excuse to get out of sight. She touched the cat's fur tenderly and somewhat diligently.

"She won't hurt you," said her aunt. "That is Mr. Eberstein's pet. Her name is Queen Mab."

"She don't look much like a fairy," was Dolly's comment. Indeed, Queen Mab would outweigh most of her race, and was a magnificent specimen of good feeding.

"You do," thought Mrs. Eberstein. Aloud she asked: "What do you know about fairies?"

"Oh, I know they are only stories. I have read about them."

"No, not much fairy tales," said Dolly, now rising up from the cat. "I have read about them in 'Midsummer Night's Dream.'"

"'Midsummer Night's Dream,' you midget!" exclaimed Mrs. Eberstein. "Have you read that? And everything else you could lay hands on?"

She took the child in her arms again as she spoke. Dolly gave a quiet assent.

"And they let you do just what you like at home? and read just what you like?"

The novel opens with Dolly's arrival at a handsome Walnut Street house in Philadelphia, where her Aunt Hal waits on the threshold. The first description of Dolly emphasizes her "clear, grave, wise, light hazel eyes" that seem "so young and so spiritually old at once." This duality—childhood and womanhood mingled—becomes a recurring motif. Warner establishes Dolly as a perceptive observer from the start, a quality that shapes her interactions throughout the excerpts.

The narrative voice is precise about physical details: Mrs. Eberstein knows "every curl" on her husband's head, and Dolly is "a delicate little thing, delicate in frame and feature alike." Such attention to appearance and gesture signals Warner's method of revealing character through external description.

Eyes That See Both Ways

Dolly's eyes are described repeatedly as "clear, wise" and "an uncommon mingling of childhood and womanhood." When she sketches Lawrence St. Leger, he studies her in return, noting "how coolly they perused him, how calmly they studied him as an abstract thing." He wants to see "a little shyness, a little consciousness, a little wavering" but finds none. This visual exchange becomes a power dynamic: Dolly sees clearly while Lawrence feels exposed. Warner uses the portrait session to dramatize a tension between being seen and seeing. Dolly's gaze is analytical, not flirtatious; she treats him as a subject for art, not romance. The narrator notes that Lawrence "could rarely meet Dolly's eyes," suggesting her gaze unsettles conventional expectations. The eyes are not merely pretty but instruments of judgment, and Warner returns to them as a touchstone for Dolly's character.

Freedom and Respect Across the Atlantic

In a key exchange, Dolly tells Lawrence, "women have a better time in my country." When he protests that English homes care for wives and daughters supremely, she counters: "they are too well cared for" and "too little free." She adds, "not quite respected enough." Lawrence is bewildered, but Dolly holds her ground. The dialogue reveals a cultural contrast embedded in the novel: American versus English ideals of womanhood. Dolly's claim is not based on extensive experience—she admits, "I have not seen much"—but on a single observation of a gentleman at his own dinner table. Warner limits Dolly's evidence to a specific, unnamed incident, which keeps the critique grounded in personal witness rather than abstract argument. The exchange also shows Dolly's willingness to speak plainly, even when it discomforts her listener. Her calm poise—"as if she were five years old" yet with "simplicity of dignity as if she had been fifty"—reinforces her authority in the conversation.

The Portrait as a Scene of Tension

The extended portrait scene in the excerpts is the novel's most sustained dramatization of Dolly and Lawrence's relationship. Lawrence insists on a full-face view so his mother can see the eyes; Dolly would prefer a profile. This small disagreement encapsulates their differing desires: he wants connection and recognition; she wants control and distance. As Dolly paints, Lawrence talks, trying to draw her out. She responds with short, guarded answers: "Outside knowledge," she says of what painting reveals. When he asks what she sees in him, she deflects. The scene is structured around a series of questions and evasions, with Dolly "much occupied with her drawing" as a physical buffer. Warner uses the painting frame to heighten the intimacy—they are alone, yet Dolly remains emotionally remote. The narrator notes that Lawrence studied her "over and over again; till he felt it was not good for him." The portrait becomes a metaphor for the difficulty of truly knowing another person.

Readers attentive to the novel's early chapters will find Warner's method consistent: she builds character through small, telling details—a glance, a turn of phrase, a preference for profile over full face. The excerpts offer no resolution to the tensions they introduce, but they establish Dolly as a protagonist whose judgments are worth following. The contrast between American and English manners, the scrutiny of eyes, and the quiet authority of a young girl sketching a grown man all reward careful attention.

I remember how Dolly’s quiet dignity in The End of a Coil made me think of another girl, just as composed, facing a very different sort of world. That steady calm when everything around you trembles—it’s a rare thread. There’s a similar strength in The Red Cross Girls with the Russian Army — Context and Discussion, which sits beside Warner’s book on my shelf, holding its own kind of grace.

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