The housewives were preparing supper; there was a smell of burning pine-wood in the air, and now and then a savory scent of frying meat.

Sylvia had smelled brewing tea and baking bread in Squire Payne's house, and she had heard old Margaret, the Scotch woman who had lived with the squire's family ever since she could remember, stepping around in another room.

Old Margaret was almost the only servant, the only regular and permanent servant, in Pembroke, and she enjoyed a curious sort of menial distinction: she dressed well, wore a handsome cashmere shawl which had come from Scotland, and held her head high in the squire's pew.

People saluted her with respect, and her isolation of inequality gave her a reversed dignity.
Sylvia had hoped Margaret would not come in while she sat with the squire.

She was afraid of her eyes, which flashed keen like a man's under shaggy brows.