Nearly all at the table were young, and the dinner was a happy and joyous one, save perhaps to Mr. Hawkey Sharpe, who felt himself, with all his profound assurance, somewhat _de trop_, though he deemed himself, as he was, certainly 'got up as well as any fellow there.' He was as vain of the form and whiteness of his hands as ever Lord Byron was, and he was wont to hold forth his right one, clenching a cambric handkerchief, with a brilliant sparkling ring of unusual size. His tie was faultless, his eyeglass arrogant and offensive, especially to Elliot, after a time; his would-be general air of stiffness and languid exclusiveness (imitated ill from others) sat as grotesquely on him as his habit of leaving remarks unanswered, while to all appearance critically examining the condition of his spiky finger-nails. His presence on this particular occasion, though under the auspices of his sister, at first roused Roland's anger to fever heat, and the latter took his seat at table with a very black expression in his handsome face indeed; but he saw or felt the necessity for dissembling, and ignored his existence. Then after a time, affected by the geniality of his surroundings, by the bright, pleasant faces of his friends, the conversation, and the circulation of Mr. Funnell's good wines--more than all, by the presence of such a sunny little creature as Annot, who had been consigned to the care of Jack Elliot--he completely thawed, and acted the host to perfection. At his back stood old Funnell, his rubicund visage shining like a harvest moon, radiant to see Roland in his father's chair and place at the foot of the table, even though she, Mrs. Lindsay (_née_ Deborah Sharpe), was at the head thereof, though 'not Falkland bred,' an old and unforgotten Fife saying of the days of the princely James's which conveys much there with reference to birth and breeding. So Roland tried to forget--perhaps for the time actually forgot--the probable or inevitable future, and strove to be genial with her, though it was quite beyond him to be so with her cub of a brother; and, indeed, he never stooped to address him at all. From the opposite side of the table Elliot silently enjoyed the luxury of admiring his merry-eyed and bright-haired Maude, and all the natural grace of her actions; but Hawkey Sharpe was seated directly opposite to her too; yet her manner betrayed--even to his keen and observant eyes--none of the annoyance or constant confusion which might have shown itself as regarded _him_ and a recent episode, as she entirely ignored his existence, while the presence of Jack shed an ægis over her.