'I hope,' said he, with what he meant for a smile, but was more like a grimace, 'that you enjoyed the dancing to-night, Miss Lindsay?' 'Thanks,' replied Maude curtly. 'I hope you, too, have been amused,' she added, making a side step to pass, but, as on a previous occasion, he barred the way, and said: 'I did not venture to ask you for one dance, even.' Maude, who deemed his presence there, though at the invitation most probably of her stepmother, presumption enough, smiled coldly and haughtily, and was about to pass down with a bow, which might mean anything, when, still opposing her progress, he said, while eyeing her fair beauty with undisguised admiration, and with a would-be soft voice, which, however, was rather 'feathery': 'Have you quite forgotten the subject on which I last addressed you?' 'The subject!' 'Yes.' 'I have not forgotten your profound presumption, Mr. Sharpe, as I then called it, if it is to that you refer,' replied Maude, trembling with anger. 'Presumption! You so style my veneration--my regard--my----' 'Take care what you say, sir, and how you may provoke my extreme patience too far,' interrupted Maude, her face now blanched and pale. 'Your patience! _that_ for it!' said he, suddenly snapping his fingers, and giving way to a sudden gust of coarse anger that caused his cheeks to redden and his eyes to gleam. 'It is your fear of me--your fear of me for your brother and his popinjay friends that gives you what you pretend to call patience, Maude Lindsay, and by the heavens above us,' he continued, wine and rage mounting into his brain together, 'by the heavens above us, I say, if that fellow Elliot-- What he was about to say remains unknown, as it was suddenly cut short. A hand from behind was laid firmly on his right ear, and by that he was twisted round, flaming with rage, fury, and no small amount of pain, to find himself confronted by the calm, stern, and inquiring face of the very person he referred to--Captain Elliot. There was a half-minute's pause after the latter flung Hawkey Sharpe aside. The steward glared at his assailant, who scarcely knew what to make of the situation, a sound like a hiss escaping through his teeth in his speechless rage and sense of affront, he clenched his hands till the spiky nails pierced his flesh. He grew deadly pale, and, with an almost grotesque expression of hate there is no describing in his pale, shifty, and watery eyes, he turned away muttering something deeply and huskily; while with a smile of disdain Jack Elliot drew the trembling girl's arm through his own and led her downstairs; but her dancing was over for that night. 'Maudie, darling, is that fellow mad? What the deuce is all this about?' asked Elliot, full of concern and surprise. 'Jack, dear Jack,' said Maude beseechingly, and in tears now, 'I implore you not to speak to Roland of this unseemly episode.' 'The fellow seems to have taken too much wine.' 'Yes, Jack, and forgot himself.'