“Unhappily it is necessary,” said Mr. Haye dryly.

“Why in the world is it necessary?  You can’t alter the matter, father, by talking; —­ it must stand so.”

“Stand how?”

“Why, as it does stand —­ Rose and I as near as possible nothing to each other.”

“Things can hardly stand so,” said Mr. Haye.  “You must be either less or more.”

Elizabeth sat silent and looked at him.  He looked at nothing but what was on his plate.

“How would you like to have Rose take your place?”

“My place?” said Elizabeth.

“Yes,” said Mr. Haye laconically.

“No place that I fill, could be filled by Rose,” said Elizabeth, with the slightest perceptible lifting of her head and raising of her brow.

“We will try that,” said Mr. Haye bitterly; “for I will put her over your head, and we will see.”

“Put her where?” said Elizabeth.

“Over this house —­ over my establishment —­ at this table —­ in your place as the head of this family.”

“You will take her for your daughter, and discard me?” said Elizabeth.

“No —­ I will not, —­” said Mr. Haye, cutting a piece of beefsteak in a way that shewed him indifferent to its fate.  “I will not! —­ I will make her my wife! —­”

Elizabeth had risen from the table and now she stood on the rug before the fire, with her arms behind her, looking down at the breakfast-table and her father.  Literally, looking down upon them.  Her cheeks were very pale, but fires that were not heaven-lit were burning somewhere within her, shining out at her eye and now and then colouring her face with a sudden flare.  There was a pause.  Mr. Haye tried what he could do with his beefsteak; and his daughter’s countenance shewed the cloud and the flame of the volcano by turns.  For awhile the father and daughter held off from each other.  But Mr. Haye’s breakfast gave symptoms of coming to an end.

“Father,” said Elizabeth, bringing her hands in front of her and clasping them, —­ “say you did not mean that!”

“Ha! —­” said Mr. Haye without looking at her, and brushing the crumbs from his pantaloons.

Elizabeth waited.

“What did you mean?”

“I spoke plain enough,” said he.

“Do you mean to say that you meant that?” said Elizabeth, the volcanic fires leaping up bright.

“Meant it?” said Mr. Haye, looking at her.  “Yes, I meant it.”

“Father, you did not! —­”

Mr. Haye looked again at her hands and her face, and answered coolly.

“Ask Rose whether I meant it, —­”

And left the room.