"What a strange creature you are, Governor! and how doubtlessly and dauntlessly you pursue your way," Rufus said sighing.
"Sighs never filled anybody's sails yet," said Winthrop. "They are the very airs of a calm."
"Calm!" said Rufus.
"A dead calm," said his brother laughing.
"I wish I had your calm," said Rufus. And with that the evening ended.
CHAPTER XXI.
O what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do! not knowing what they do! MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
One morning, about these days, Mr. and Miss Haye were seated at the opposite ends of the breakfast-table. They had been there for some time, silently buttering rolls and sipping coffee, in a leisurely way on Mr. Haye's part, and an ungratified one on the part of his daughter. He was considering, also in a leisurely sort of way, the columns of the morning paper; she considering him and the paper, and at intervals knocking with her knife against the edge of her plate, — a meditative and discontented knife, and an impassive and unimpressed plate. So breakfast went on till Elizabeth's cup was nearly emptied.
"Father," said she, "it is very unsociable and stupid for you to read the paper, and me to eat my breakfast alone. You might read aloud, if you must read."
Mr. Haye brought his head round from the paper long enough to swallow half a cupful of coffee.