They passed out through the French window on to the gravel path which circled the cedar-shaded lawn.
A shower had fallen barely an hour since, and the air was full of fresh delicate fragrance.

Birds were singing in the dripping trees, blackbirds were busy in the grass.

The perfume from the wet lilac shrubs was a very dream of sweetness.

Andrew pointed across a park which sloped down to the garden boundary.
"Up there, amongst the elm trees, George," he said, "can you see a gleam of white?
That is the Hall, just to the left of the rookery." Duncombe nodded.
"Yes," he said, "I can see it." "Guy and she walked down so often after dinner," he said quietly.

"I have stood here and watched them.