The flowers were all in gayest bloom, and the creepers on the walls of
the house were bursting into tufts of young green. A broad gravel-walk
ran from end to end of the facade, terminating in a large conservatory.
In the walk were three people pacing up and down. Lady Constantine's was
the central figure, her brother being on one side of her, and on the
other a stately form in a corded shovel-hat of glossy beaver and black
breeches. This was the Bishop. Viviette carried over her shoulder a
sunshade lined with red, which she twirled idly. They were laughing and
chatting gaily, and when the group approached the churchyard many of
their remarks entered the silence of the church tower through the
ventilator of the window.

The conversation was general, yet interesting enough to Swithin. At
length Louis stepped upon the grass and picked up something that had lain
there, which turned out to be a bowl: throwing it forward he took a
second, and bowled it towards the first, or jack. The Bishop, who seemed
to be in a sprightly mood, followed suit, and bowled one in a curve
towards the jack, turning and speaking to Lady Constantine as he
concluded the feat. As she had not left the gravelled terrace he raised
his voice, so that the words reached Swithin distinctly.

'Do you follow us?' he asked gaily.

'I am not skilful,' she said. 'I always bowl narrow.' The Bishop meditatively paused.