"You were good to bring me here," she said gratefully; "it seems like an enchanted way."
"I am glad to give you pleasure," he replied conventionally.
The ground was still hidden under the brown leaves of October, that rustled gently with a passing breeze or echoed the fairy tread of the Little People of the Forest, playing hide-and-seek in the wake of Spring. As Beatrice walked ahead of him, it seemed to Forsyth that she belonged to the woods, as truly as did the nymphs and dryads of old.
Buttercups scattered garish gold around them, and beyond, among the trees, the wild geranium rose on its slender stalk, making a phantom bit of colour against the background of dead leaves. Between the mossy stumps budded mandrakes were huddled closely together, afraid to bloom till others had led the way. Beatrice looked around her and drew a long breath, then gently stroked a satin bud upon a bare stalk of hickory.
"Why don't you pick something?" asked Robert, with a laugh. "That's what we came for, isn't it?"
"No, I can't pick things. I feel as if I were hurting them. Suppose you lived here in this lovely place and a giant came along and broke you off at the waist to take your head home with him—how do you suppose you'd feel?"
"I don't think I'd feel anything after the break. Besides, that's not a fair hypothesis. There is no real analogy."
"Hy-poth-e-sis," repeated Beatrice, looking at him, mischievously; "did I pronounce it right?"
"Of course—why?"
"Because," she answered, with her eyes dancing, "it's a nice word and I'd like to learn it. I want to say it to Doctor Norton. Some of his words are as long at that, but they're not nearly so complicated, and I yearn to excel in his own specialty."