‘No, indeed you haven’t. This is very beautiful!’
‘I discovered it last year, and spent hours here alone. I couldn’t ask you to come and see it then,’ he added, laughing.
‘It is delightful!’
‘Here’s your seat,—who knows how many years it has waited for you?’
She sat down upon the old trunk. About the roots of the elm above grew masses of fern, and beneath it a rough bit of the bank was clothed with pennywort, the green discs and yellowing fruity spires making an exquisite patch of colour. In the shadow of bushes near at hand hartstongue abounded, with fronds hanging to the length of an arm.
‘Now,’ said Tarrant, gaily, ‘you shall have some blackberries. And he went to gather them, returning in a few minutes with a large leaf full. He saw that Nancy, meanwhile, had taken up the book from where he dropped it to the ground; it lay open on her lap.
‘Helmholtz! Away with him!’
‘No; I have opened at something interesting.’
She spoke as though possession of the book were of vital importance to her. Nevertheless, the fruit was accepted, and she drew off her gloves to eat it. Tarrant seated himself on the ground, near her, and gradually fell into a half-recumbent attitude.
‘Won’t you have any?’ Nancy asked, without looking at him.