For Mrs. Latch had not spoken to her since she had come into the kitchen,
and it seemed to Esther that she had looked round with the air of one
anxious to discover something that might serve as a pretext for blame. She
had told Esther to make haste and lay the table afresh. Those who had gone
were the stable folk, and breakfast had now to be prepared for the other
servants. The person in the dark green dress who spoke with her chin in
the air, whose nose had been pinched to purple just above the nostrils,
was Miss Grover, the lady's-maid. Grover addressed an occasional remark to
Sarah Tucker, a tall girl with a thin freckled face and dark-red hair. The
butler, who was not feeling well, did not appear at breakfast, and Esther
was sent to him with a cup of tea.

There were the plates to wash and the knives to clean, and when they were
done there were potatoes, cabbage, onions to prepare, saucepans to fill
with water, coal to fetch for the fire. She worked steadily without
flagging, fearful of Mrs. Barfield, who would come down, no doubt, about
ten o'clock to order dinner. The race-horses were coming through the
paddock-gate; Margaret called to Mr. Randal, a little man, wizen, with a
face sallow with frequent indigestions.

"Well, do you think the Gaffer's satisfied?" said Margaret. John made no
articulate reply, but he muttered something, and his manner showed that he
strongly deprecated all female interest in racing; and when Sarah and
Grover came running down the passage and overwhelmed him with questions,
crowding around him, asking both together if Silver Braid had won his
trial, he testily pushed them aside, declaring that if he had a race-horse
he would not have a woman-servant in the place.... "A positive curse, this
chatter, chatter. Won his trial, indeed! What business had a lot of female
folk----" The rest of John's sarcasm was lost in his shirt collar as he
hurried away to his pantry, closing the door after him.