She took up a book she had left on the grass, and withdrew with it to the solitary shelter of a cedar some yards away.

Quiet descended on the lawns.

The men smoked or buried themselves in a sleepy study of the Sunday papers.

The old house lay steeped in sunshine.

Occasional bursts of talk arose and died away; a loud cuckoo in a neighbouring plantation seemed determined to silence all its bird rivals; while once or twice the hum of an aeroplane overhead awoke even in the drowsiest listener dim memories of the war.
Helena was only pretending to read.