Hawkey smoked on in silence. He had never before dared to lift his eyes so high, never before ventured to 'make love' to a lady. His past experience had been more sudden, abrupt, less bothersome, and more acceptable. Had he done or said too much, or too little? Ought he to have gone down on his knees like the lovers he had seen on the stage, or read of in old story books? No--he was certain she would have laughed at him had he done so; and he was also certain no one 'did that sort of thing' nowadays. The age of such supplication was assuredly past; and he thought, viciously too, that he had 'done all that may become a man.' 'These bloated aristocrats, Deb, have a way all their own, of setting a fellow down!' said he, with a louring expression in his shifty, pale-gray eyes; 'she is, I know, my superior in position, in the way the world goes, _as yet_,' he continued, for Mr. Hawkey Sharpe, though longing for the vineyard of Naboth, was--at heart--a Social-Democrat; 'my superior in birth, education, and habits.' 'I should think so.' 'Don't sneer at me, Deb.' 'So far, perhaps, as Maude is concerned, your success depends, Hawkey, upon whether there is anyone else in her thoughts.' 'Before me, you mean?' 'Yes--she may be engaged for all we know. I, for one, am certainly not in her confidence. She has a lover, however, I suspect.' 'It looks deuced like the case. I saw her post a letter to a fellow named Elliot to-night,' he added, with a knit in his brow and an ugly gleam in his pale eyes. 'Elliot--that is the name of one of those who come here to shoot, for the First.' 'To shoot?' 'Yes--on Roland's invitation.' 'There may be something else shot than partridges.' 'Elliot--Captain Elliot?' 'Yes--that was the name on her letter.' 'Well--you must not quarrel with him--that would be unseemly.' 'My dear Deb, I never _quarrel_ with those I _hate_,' was the comprehensive and sinister reply of Hawkey Sharpe, with his most diabolical expression; 'and though I have never seen this interloper Elliot, I feel a most ungodly hatred of him already.' 'I repeat that no good can come of a vulgar quarrel, and that you must not forget the proprieties. What would the servants alone say or think?' 'Oh, d--n the servants!' responded her brother, tugging his moustache angrily; 'but if that fellow Elliot is her lover, I must put my brains in steep and contrive to separate them at all hazards, Deb. If I allow him or anyone else to enter the stakes, I shall be out of the running. Anyhow, as you are looking pale, Deb, I mustn't keep you here talking over my incipient love affairs, or you will not be able to receive some of these infernal guests, who, I believe, come to-morrow. You are not overburdened with visitors, however.' 'Yet I would rather it was the time of their going than their coming,' said Mrs. Lindsay, whom his remark touched on a tender point. 'Why?' asked Hawkey.