"It's about the size of it." Then he asked her gravely, across the distance between them, "Don't you hear a nightingale?"
She was taken in.
"But there aren't any nightingales in New England!"
"I almost think I hear one. You see if you don't."
She caught the pace then, and listened. Presently she spoke as gravely as he had done.
"I am sure I hear one—over there in the rose garden."
"I knew you would." He breathed quickly, in a gay relief. "Yes, in the rose garden, 'her breast against a thorn.' Well, playmate, it's a wonderful night. I smell the roses, too, don't you?"
"Yes, and lilies. The nightingale sings very loud."
"Let us talk, playmate. Where have you been since I saw you last?"
"Since that other night I came down here?"