'God made the country, and man made the town!'
But much of this applies more to England than to the sister kingdom.
The last evening of August saw a gay dinner party in the stately old dining-hall of Earlshaugh, with Roland acting as host, and Mrs. Lindsay, pale and composed as usual, but brilliant in his mother's suite of diamonds (heir-looms of the line), too brilliant, he thought, for the occasion, at the head of the table.
Among other friends who had come for the morrow's shooting were Jack Elliot and Malcolm Skene, both most prepossessing-looking young fellows; and the style and bearing of both—but especially of the former, who had about him that finishing touch which the service, foreign travel, and good society impart—inspired the heart of Mr. Hawkey Sharpe with much jealous rancour and envy, and with something of mortification too.
It may be superfluous to say that in all the elements that make a perfect gentleman, and one accustomed to the world, he far outshone the unfortunate Hawkey; and as he sat there, clad in evening costume, toying with his wine-glass, and conversing in a pleasantly modulated voice with Annot Drummond, who affected to be deeply interested in Cairo and Alexandria, Tel-el-Kebir and Kassassin, he had no more consciousness or idea of finding a rival in such a person than in old Gavin Fowler, the keeper, or Funnell, the butler, who officiated behind his chair.
But Deborah—Mrs. Lindsay—was observing Elliot, and thought of her brother's jealousy, his ambition and avarice, and his recent threats with secret dread and misgivings, and, knowing of what he was capable, she glanced at him uneasily from time to time as he sat silent, almost sullen, and imbibing more wine than was quite good for him.
The appurtenances of the table, especially so far as plate went, were all that might be expected in a house of such a style and age as Earlshaugh, and the great chandelier that hung in the dome-shaped roof with its profusely parqueted ceiling, shed a soft light over all—on many a stately but dim portrait on the walls—among others, one of the Lindsay of the Weird Yett, above the stone mantelpiece, on which was carved the fesse-chequy of Lindsay, crested by a tent, with stars overhead, and the motto, Astra castra, numen lumen.
In the centre of the board towered a giant silver épergne (the gift of the Hunt to the late laird) laden with fruit and flowers, a tableau representing the gallant King James V., the 'Commons King,' slaying a stag at bay in Falkland Wood.
Several attractive girls were present, but none perhaps were more so in their different degree than Maude, with her sunny hair and winning blue eyes; Hester, with her pure complexion, soft bearing, and rich dark-brown braids; and Annot, with her flower-like face, childish playfulness of manner, and glorious wealth of shining golden tresses.
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.'