It seemed to Derek that he spent the next day in avoiding people. He bolted his breakfast, his appetite spoiled by the ashen presence of Mrs. Machin who waited on him herself. She had even fried kidneys for him, which she knew he disliked. He hurried over his orders to Hugh McKay, irritated, and yet depressed by the expression of deep melancholy on the fellow's honest face. He would have welcomed a talk with Mr. Jerrold, but he heard that he was laid up by an attack of lumbago, and he would not venture to go to Durras for fear of meeting Grace. It occurred to him that he was being made vastly uncomfortable for doing a humane and just act. Many a man would have bundled the whole crew off his farm.
The Indians avoided him, too. All day they squatted in the blazing sun among the strawberries, never lifting their eyes when he passed. Added to the enervating heat, a tension of suppressed excitement hung over Grimstone like a cloud charged with stormy portent. Under that hard blue sky the Indians, the hired help, and Derek moved like people in a secret game, watching in furtive fashion for someone to make the next move.
In the afternoon Derek went to the basket factory. He found the drive over the sandy roads incredibly hot and stifling. The man at the factory told him that the thermometer registered 100 degrees in the shade. He let the gelding take his time home, so that the shadows were
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