"Where's Rose?"
"In bed, for aught I know. There is no moving her till she has a mind."
"'Seems to me, it is quite as difficult to move you," said her father.
"Ay, but then I have a mind — which makes all the difference."
Mr. Haye went back to his paper and considered it till the rest of his cup of coffee was thoroughly cold. Elizabeth finished her breakfast, and sat, drawn back into herself, with arms folded, looking into the fireplace. Finding his coffee cold, Mr. Haye's attention came at length back upon his daughter.
"What do you want me to talk about?" he said.
"It don't signify, your talking about anything now," said Elizabeth. "Everything is cold — mind and matter together. I don't know how you'll find the coffee, father."
Mr. Haye stirred it, with a discontented look.
"Rose is late," he remarked again.
"That's nothing new," said Elizabeth. "Late is her time."