Elizabeth winced a bit. He was gone, and she stood thinking, among other things, that he might have asked what she would like. And how did he know but breakfast was ready then? Or did he know everything? And how quietly and unqualifiedly, to be sure, he had taken her consignment that morning. She did not know whether to like it or not like it, — till she saw him coming again from the house.
"After all," said he, "I think we had better go in and take breakfast, and talk afterwards. It seems to be in a good state of forwardness."
CHAPTER XVIII.
From eastern quarters now
The sun's up-wandering,
His rays on the rock's brow
And hill-side squandering;
Be glad my soul! and sing amidst thy pleasure,
Fly from the house of dust,
Up with thy thanks and trust
To heaven's azure!
THOMAS KINGO.
It was sufficiently proven at that breakfast, to Elizabeth's satisfaction, that it is possible for one to be at the same time both very happy and a little uncomfortable. She had a degree of consciousness upon her that amounted to that, more especially as she had a vexed knowledge that it was shared by at least one person in the room. The line of Clam's white teeth had never glimmered more mischievously. Elizabeth dared not look at her. And she dared not look at Winthrop, and she dared not look at Rose. But Rose, to do her justice, seemed to be troubled with no consciousness beyond what was usual with her, and which generally concerned only herself; and she and Winthrop kept up the spirit of talk with great ease all breakfast time.
"Now how in the world are we going to get away?" thought
Elizabeth when breakfast was finishing; — "without saying flat
and bald why we do it. Rose will want to go too, for she likes
Winthrop quite well enough for that." —
And with the consciousness that she could not make the slightest manoeuvre, Elizabeth rose from table.
"How soon must you go, Mr. Landholm?" said Rose winningly.
"Presently, ma'am."
"I am sorry you must go so soon! But we haven't a room to ask you to sit down in, if you were to stay."