‘Are you a Christian?’ asked the Italian Countess, with sudden interest.

‘No,’ said Alexander. ‘I’m not. But I believe in keeping up the old institutions.’

‘They are so beautiful,’ said Fraulein daintily.

‘Oh, they are,’ cried Miss Bradley.

They all trailed out on to the lawn. It was a sunny, soft morning in early summer, when life ran in the world subtly, like a reminiscence. The church bells were ringing a little way off, not a cloud was in the sky, the swans were like lilies on the water below, the peacocks walked with long, prancing steps across the shadow and into the sunshine of the grass. One wanted to swoon into the by–gone perfection of it all.

‘Good–bye,’ called Alexander, waving his gloves cheerily, and he disappeared behind the bushes, on his way to church.

‘Now,’ said Hermione, ‘shall we all bathe?’

‘I won’t,’ said Ursula.

‘You don’t want to?’ said Hermione, looking at her slowly.

‘No. I don’t want to,’ said Ursula.

‘Nor I,’ said Gudrun.

‘What about my suit?’ asked Gerald.

‘I don’t know,’ laughed Hermione, with an odd, amused intonation. ‘Will a handkerchief do—a large handkerchief?’

‘That will do,’ said Gerald.

‘Come along then,’ sang Hermione.

The first to run across the lawn was the little Italian, small and like a cat, her white legs twinkling as she went, ducking slightly her head, that was tied in a gold silk kerchief. She tripped through the gate and down the grass, and stood, like a tiny figure of ivory and bronze, at the water’s edge, having dropped off her towelling, watching the swans, which came up in surprise. Then out ran Miss Bradley, like a large, soft plum in her dark–blue suit. Then Gerald came, a scarlet silk kerchief round his loins, his towels over his arms. He seemed to flaunt himself a little in the sun, lingering and laughing, strolling easily, looking white but natural in his nakedness. Then came Sir Joshua, in an overcoat, and lastly Hermione, striding with stiff grace from out of a great mantle of purple silk, her head tied up in purple and gold. Handsome was her stiff, long body, her straight–stepping white legs, there was a static magnificence about her as she let the cloak float loosely away from her striding. She crossed the lawn like some strange memory, and passed slowly and statelily towards the water.

There were three ponds, in terraces descending the valley, large and smooth and beautiful, lying in the sun. The water ran over a little stone wall, over small rocks, splashing down from one pond to the level below. The swans had gone out on to the opposite bank, the reeds smelled sweet, a faint breeze touched the skin.

Gerald had dived in, after Sir Joshua, and had swum to the end of the pond. There he climbed out and sat on the wall. There was a dive, and the little Countess was swimming like a rat, to join him. They both sat in the sun, laughing and crossing their arms on their breasts. Sir Joshua swam up to them, and stood near them, up to his arm–pits in the water. Then Hermione and Miss Bradley swam over, and they sat in a row on the embankment.