She rose presently, and by a sudden turn surprised him.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "I have been listening, enchanted. First I could not imagine whether it was some wandering fay or wood nymph wild."
"Oh, do I look very wild?" with a most charming smile.
"Why"—he colored a little—"perhaps the word may have more than one meaning. Oh, you look as if you were part of the forest, a sprite or fairy being."
"Oh, do you believe in them? I sit here sometimes and call them up. There was an odd volume sent me awhile ago, a play by Shakespere, 'Midsummer Night's Dream,' and it is full of those little mischievous elves and dainty darlings."
"That is not it?" coming nearer and looking at her book.
"Oh, it is verses by one Mr. Herrick. Some of them almost sing themselves, and I put tunes to them."
"And sing to the woods and waters. You should have a more appreciative audience."
"Oh, I couldn't sing to real people," and she flushed. "I wonder if"—and there came a far-away look in her eyes that passed him, and yet he saw it.
"What is the wonder?"