"You knew what you were doing?"
"Yes."
"This is part of the consequences. That's what life is, nothing but a game of consequences. I knew what I was doing; you admit you were responsible for yourself; and nothing but consequences have resulted ever since. Sit down and be reasonable and friendly; won't you?"
"I cannot stay here."
"Try," he said, smiling, and made room for her on the sun-crisped moss. A little later she seated herself with an absent-minded air and gazed out across the valley. A leaf or two, prematurely yellow, drifted from the birches.
"It reminds me," he said thoughtfully, "of that exquisite poem on Autumn:
"'The autumn leaves are falling,
They're falling everywhere;
They're falling in the atmosphere,
They're falling in the air—'
—and I don't remember any more, dear."
"Did you wish to say anything to me besides nonsense?" she asked, flushing.
"Did you expect anything else from me?"