A few other groups were scattered over the grass; while
girls in white dresses and young men in flannels were playing tennis in
the distance. A lake at the bottom of the sloping garden made light and
space in a landscape otherwise too heavily walled in by thick woodland.
White swans floated on the lake, and the June trees beyond were in their
freshest and proudest leaf. A church tower rose appropriately in a
corner of the park, and on the other side of the deer-fence beyond the
lake a herd of red deer were feeding. Doris could not help feeling as
though the whole scene had been lately painted for a new "high life"
play at the St. James's Theatre, and she half expected to see Sir George
Alexander walk out of the bushes.
"I suppose, Mrs. Meadows, you have been helping your husband with his
lectures?" said Lady Dunstable, a little languidly, as though the heat
oppressed her. She was making play with a cigarette and her half-shut
eyes were fixed on the "lion's" wife. The eyes fascinated Doris. Surely
they were artificially blackened, above and below? And the lips--had art
been delicately invoked, or was Nature alone responsible?
"I copy things for Arthur," said Doris.
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