"Yes, Jim Story got the sack about a week ago. When he had taken a drop
he'd tell every blessed thing that was done in the stables. They'd get him
down to the 'Red Lion' for the purpose; of course the squire couldn't
stand that."

"And shall you take the place?"

"Yes. I'm not going to spend my life carrying parcels up and down the
King's Road, Brighton, if I can squeeze in here. It isn't so much the
berth that I care about, but the advantages, information fresh from the
fountain-head. You won't catch me chattering over the bar at the 'Red
Lion' and having every blessed word I say wired up to London and printed
next morning in all the papers."

Esther wondered what he was talking about, and, looking at him, she saw a
low, narrow forehead, a small, round head, a long nose, a pointed chin,
and rather hollow, bloodless cheeks. Notwithstanding the shallow chest, he
was powerfully built, the long arms could deal a swinging blow. The low
forehead and the lustreless eyes told of a slight, unimaginative brain,
but regular features and a look of natural honesty made William Latch a
man that ten men and eighteen women out of twenty would like.

"I see you have got books in that bundle," he said at the end of a long
silence. "Fond of readin'?"

"They are mother's books," she replied, hastily. "I was afraid to leave
them at the station, for it would be easy for anyone to take one out, and
I should not miss it until I undid the bundle."

"Sarah Tucker--that's the upper-housemaid--will be after you to lend them