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.