(I) About the time that Frank was coming into the village where the priest lived, Jenny had just finished lunch with her father.

She took a book, two cigarettes, a small silver matchbox and a Japanese fan, and went out into the garden.

She had no duties this afternoon; she had played the organ admirably at the morning service, and would play it equally admirably at the evening service.

The afternoon devotions in the little hot Sunday school--she had decided, in company with her father a year or two ago--and the management of the children, were far better left in the professional hands of the schoolmistress.
She went straight out of the drawing-room windows, set wide and shaded by awnings, and across the lawn to the seat below the ancient yews.
There she disposed herself, with her feet up, lit a cigarette, buried the match and began to read.
* * * * * She had not heard from Frank for nearly three weeks; his last communication had been a picture postcard of Selby Abbey, with the initial "F" neatly printed at the back.

But she was not very greatly upset.