In the midst of a grand, tremendous cavatina, loud enough to split the ceiling, while the room was preparing itself to applaud, and Roland was thinking it might have been more agreeable to ears if given out of doors, say on the quai at Durban, he happened to raise his head, and saw Gerald opposite. Their eyes met. Roland nodded, but Gerald gave no response. Gerald happened to be standing next to Hamish Channing. And the two were attracting some attention, for they were known by many present to be rising stars in the literary world. Perhaps Hamish was also gaining notice by his personal attributes; it was not often so entirely good-looking a man was seen in the polite society of soirées and drums. Side by side they stood, the aspiring candidates for literary honours, soon to be enrolled amidst the men who have written Books. Which of them--that is, which work--would be the most successful? That remained to be learnt. Hamish Channing had the advantage (and a very great one) in looks; anybody might see that: Hamish had the advantage in scholarship; and he had the advantage, though perhaps the world could not see it yet, of genius. Hamish Channing's education had been also sound and comprehensive: he was a College man. Gerald was not. Mr. Channing the elder had been straitened for means, as the public has heard of, but he had contrived to send his eldest son to Cambridge, A wonderful outward difference was there in the two men, as they stood side by side: would there be as much contrast in their books? Gerald was looking fierce. The sight of Hamish Channing brought to his mind the adverse opinion pronounced on his manuscript. His resentment had grown more bitter; his determination, to be revenged, into a firm and fixed resolve, He could not completely cut Hamish, as it was his pleasure to cut his brother Roland, but he was haughty and distant. Hamish, of genial temper himself, and his attention distracted by the large assembly, observed it not. The crashing came to an end, the applause also, and in the general move that succeeded, Roland got away. Seeing a vacant sofa in a comparatively deserted room, he took possession of one end of it. A fashionable young woman seated herself at the other end and took a survey of him. "I am sure you are one of the Yorkes of Helstonleigh! Is it Roland?" Roland turned to the speaker: and saw a general resemblance (in the chignon and shoulder-blades) to Mrs. Bede Greatorex. "Yes, I am Roland," he answered, staring. "Don't you remember me?--Clare Joliffe?" "Good gracious!" cried Roland, seizing her hand and shaking it nearly off. Clare Joliffe had never been a particular favourite of his; but, regarded in the light of a home face, she was agreeably welcome. "Whatever brings you here, Miss Joliffe?" "I am come over on a visit," said the young lady. "Louisa has invited me for the first time since her marriage. I only got here at seven o'clock tonight; we had a rough passage and the boat was late."