She thought he matched his surroundings as he disappeared at a trot round the corner of the church.

Then from behind her came the hoot of a motor-horn, and she glanced back to see a closed car that glittered at every angle swoop through the open gates and swerve round to the churchyard.

She wanted to stop and see its occupants alight, but decorum prompted her to pass on, and she entered the church, which smelt of the mould of centuries, and paused inside.
It was a plain little place with plastered walls, and green glass windows, and one large square pew under the pulpit.

The other pews were modern and very bare, occupied sparsely by villagers who all had their faces turned over their shoulders and were craning to watch the door.
No one looked at her, however, and Juliet, after brief hesitation, sat down in a chair close to the porch.

The entrance of the Court party was evidently something of an event, and she determined to get a good view.
Footsteps came up the path, and on the very verge of the porch a voice spoke--a woman's voice, unmodulated, arrogant.
"Oh, really, Edward! I don't see why your village schoolmaster should be asked to lunch every Sunday, however immaculate he may be.