"We're so out of it," said Mr. Miles Handford, a stout man from
Yorkshire--a wealthy landowner and sportsman.

He was unaccustomed to be out of anything in his environment, and
he showed actual irritation.

"Thank Heaven we are, I should think!" answered another; and the
first speaker frowned at him.

Ernest Travers joined them presently. He had put on a black tie
and wore black gloves and a silk hat.

"If you accompany me," he said, "I can show you the short way by a
field path. It cuts off half a mile. I have told Sir Walter we
all go to church, and he asked me if we would like the motors; but
I felt, the day being fine, you would agree with me that we might
walk. He is terribly crushed, but taking it like the man he is."

Miles Handford and Fayre-Michell followed the church party in the
rear, and relieved their minds by criticizing Mr. Travers.

"Officious ass!" said the stout man. "A typical touch that black
tie! A decent-minded person would have felt this appalling tragedy
far too much to think of such a trifle. I hope I shall never see
the brute again."

"It seems too grotesque marching to church like a lot of children,
because he tells us to do so," murmured Fayre-Michell.