In the spring air, the water gleamed and the opposite woods were purplish with new life.

Charming Jersey cattle came to the fence, breathing hoarsely from their velvet muzzles at the human beings, expecting perhaps a crust.
Birkin leaned on the fence.

A cow was breathing wet hotness on his hand.
'Pretty cattle, very pretty,' said Marshall, one of the brothers-in-law.

'They give the best milk you can have.' 'Yes,' said Birkin.
'Eh, my little beauty, eh, my beauty!' said Marshall, in a queer high falsetto voice, that caused the other man to have convulsions of laughter in his stomach.
'Who won the race, Lupton ?' he called to the bridegroom, to hide the fact that he was laughing.
The bridegroom took his cigar from his mouth.
'The race ?' he exclaimed.

Then a rather thin smile came over his face.
He did not want to say anything about the flight to the church door.
'We got there together.