If ever face expressed condemnatory contempt, Gerald's did, as he turned it fall on his brother. For, this very hope was being cherished by himself. It was he who intended to profit by the interest of Sir Vincent, to be exerted on his behalf. And to have a rival in the same field, although one of so little account as Roland, was not agreeable. "The best thing _you_ can do, is to go off again to Port Natal," he said roughly. "You'll never get along here." "But I intend to get along, Gerald. Once let me have a fair start--and I have never had it yet--there's not many shall distance me." "What do you call a fair start?" asked Mrs. Channing, who always enjoyed Roland's sanguine dreams. "A place where I can bring my abilities into use, and be remunerated accordingly. I don't ask better than to work, and be paid for it. Only let me earn a couple of hundreds a year to begin with, Mrs. Channing, and you'd never hear me ask Vincent Yorke or anybody else for help again." "You had not used to like the prospect of work, Roland," spoke William Yorke. "But then I had not had my pride and laziness knocked out of me at Port Natal." William Yorke lifted his eyes. "Did that happen to you?" "It did," emphatically answered Roland. "Oh, I shall get into something good by-and-by, where my talents can find play. Of all things, I should best like a farm." "A farm!" "A nice little farm. And if I had a few hundred pounds, I'd take one tomorrow. Do you know anything of butter-making, Annabel?" he stopped to ask, dropping his voice. Annabel bent her blushing face over her plate, and pretended not to hear. Roland thought she was offended. "I didn't mean make it, you know," he whispered; "I'd not like to see you do such a thing"--bringing his face back again to the general company. "But it's of little good thinking of a farm, you see, William Yorke, when there's no money to the fore." "You don't know anything of farming," said Mr. Yorke, inwardly wondering whether this appeal to Annabel had meant anything, or was only one of Roland's thoughtless interludes of speech. "Don't I?" said Roland; "I was on one for ever so long at Port Natal, and had to drive pigs. It is astonishing the sight of experience a fellow picks up over there, and the little he learns to live upon." "Because he has to do it, I suppose." "That's the secret. I am earning a pound a week now, regular pay, and make it do for all my wants. You'd not think it, would you, William Yorke?" "Certainly not, to look at you," said William Yorke, with a smile. "Are clothes included?" "Oh, Carrick goes bail for all that. I'm afraid he'll find the bills running up; but a fellow, if he's a gentleman, must look decent. I'm as careful as I can be, and sit in my shirtsleeves at home when it's hot." "Lady Augusta has visions of your walking about London streets in a coat out at elbows. I think it troubles her."