“Then you shouldn’t bring it up!” said Elizabeth, trembling.

“It’s nothing very bad to bring up,” said her father.  “It’s only a little extra strong machinery that wants a good engineer.”

“That’s no fault in the machinery, sir,” said Winthrop.

“And all you have to do,” suggested Mr. Herder, “is to find a good engineer.”

“I am my own engineer!” said Elizabeth, a little soothed by the first remark and made desperate by the second.

“So you are!” said her cousin.  “There’s no doubt of that.”

“Are you a good one, Miss Elisabet’?” said the naturalist, smiling at her.

“You must presume not! —­ after what you have heard,” she answered with abundant haughtiness.

“It is one mark of a good engineer to be a match for his machinery,” said Winthrop quietly.

It was said so coolly and simply that Elizabeth did not take offence.  She stood, rather cooled down and thoughtful, still at the back of Mr. Herder’s chair.  Winthrop rose to take leave, and Mr. Haye repeated his invitation.

“I will venture so far as to say I will come if I can, sir.”

“I shall expect you,” said the other, shaking his hand cordially.

Mr. Herder went with his friend.  Mr. Haye soon himself followed, leaving the two ladies alone.  Both sat down in silence at the table; Elizabeth with a book, Miss Cadwallader with her fancy work; but neither of them seemed very intent on what she was about.  The work went on lazily, and the leaves of the book were not turned over.

“I wish I was Winthrop Landholm,” said Rose at length.

“Why?” —­ said her cousin, after a sufficient time had marked her utter carelessness of what the meaning might have been.

“I should have such a good chance.”

“Of what?” —­ said Elizabeth dryly enough.

“Of a certain lady’s favour, whose favour is not very easy to gain.”

“You don’t care much for my favour,” said Elizabeth.

“I should, if I were Winthrop Landholm.”

“If you were he, you wouldn’t get it, any more than you have now.”

“O no.  I mean, I wish I were he and not myself, you know.”

“You must think well enough of him.  I am sure no possible inducement could make me wish myself Mr. Satterthwaite, for a moment.”

“I don’t care for Mr. Satterthwaite,” said Rose coolly.  “But how Mr. Haye takes to him, don’t he?”

“To whom?”

“Winthrop Landholm.”

“I don’t see how he shews it.”

“Why, the way he was asking him to dinner.”

“It is nothing very uncommon for Mr. Haye to ask people to dinner.”

“No, but such a person.”

“What ’such a person’?”

“O, a farmer’s boy.  Mr. Haye wouldn’t have done it once.  But that’s the way he always comes round to people when they get up in the world.”

“This one hasn’t got much up in the world yet.”