Luttrell moved to a writing-table.
"You are going to join the tennis players," he said.

Hillyard was already dressed for the game, and carried a racket in his hand.

"I must write a letter, then I will come out and watch you." "Right," said Martin, and he left his friend to his letter.
The hall was very still.

A bee came buzzing in at the open window, made a tour of the flower-vases, and flew out again into the sunshine.

From the lawn the cries of the tennis players, the calls of thrush and blackbird and dishwasher, were wafted in on waves of perfume from the roses.