Mrs. Machin," thought Derek, "the housekeeper . . . the men, farm labourers, of course."
He was fascinated by the dancing of the girl. Only when she had dropped panting into a chair could he give more than a glance to the men. Two were seated at the table facing each other. They had been playing at dominoes and they now returned to the game, their faces still fixed in the grin with which they had watched the dance. One was a red-cheeked youth with a black bullet head, beady eyes, and a sly smile. His opponent had a narrow head, a fair, reckless face, and the look of a sailor rather than a farm labourer. Talking and laughing with the girl, the third man showed through his open collar a full brown throat and chest; he had an honest, stubborn face. The fourth had been sitting in the shadow, but he now drew a match across a stove-lid and held it to a cigarette, the flash illuminating for a moment his prominent, well cut cheek bones, bright eyes, and curly brown hair. He rose, stretched himself, and came towards the window. Derek hastily turned away, and, finding himself facing the door, he gave a sharp, yet nervous rap.
The man with the cigarette opened the door. A collie dog at his side barked noisily.
"I should like to see Mrs. Machin," said Derek.
The old woman instantly appeared, pushing aside the dog and man, and presenting a peremptory front to Vale.
"You are the housekeeper, aren't you?" he said.
She looked at him shrewdly. "My goodness, don't tell me you are Mr. Vale! We didn't expect you till tomorrow. Of course, it don't matter to me. But one of these boys should ha' met you."
