Roger was there, restless, impatient, and a little angry at all the fuss.

Dr Brandram and the Rector were there, resigned, as men who had been through ceremonies of the kind before.

And a deputation of dead-servants sat on chairs near the door, gratified to be included in the party, and mentally going over their services to the testator, and appraising them in anticipation.
"We were waiting for you, Mr Armstrong," said the attorney severely, as the tutor entered.
Mr Armstrong looked not at all well pleased to be thus accosted, and walked to a seat in the bay-window behind Mr Pottinger.
The man of the law put on his glasses, took a sip of water from a tumbler he had had brought in, blew his nose, and glancing round on his audience with all the enjoyment of a man who feels himself master of the situation, began to make a little speech.
There was first a little condescending preamble concerning the virtues of the deceased, which every one but Roger listened to respectfully.
The son felt it as much as he could put up with to sit still and hear it, and began to fidget ominously, and greatly to the disturbance of the speaker.

When Mr Pottinger, after a few reproachful pauses, left this topic and began to discourse on his own relations with the late Squire, it was the turn of Dr Brandram to become restless.
"This is not the occasion for dwelling on the gratification I received from--" Here the doctor deliberately rose and walked across the room for a footstool, which, as deliberately, he walked back with and laid at the feet of Mrs Ingleton.

"Beg pardon--go on," said he, meeting the astonished eye of the attorney.
"The gratification I received from the kind expressions--" Here a large coal inconsiderately fell out of the fire with a loud clamour.