“Oh, _you_ don’t know anything about me,” she snapped, as they entered the footpath through the Forest. “I believe I know a very great deal about you,” he said quietly. “Of course you believe so. Well, I don’t mind you telling me.” He stroked his chin reflectively. “Well, to begin with,” he said, “you’re passionate.” She burst into sudden, uncontrollable, crackling laughter. In the empty spaces of the Forest it sounded like musketry. “I knew you’d say that.... I knew you would. And for the life of me I don’t know whether you’re right or wrong. Every woman likes to think she’s passionate. And nobody knows whether she’s any more passionate than anybody else.... Pass on to the next point. You may be right or you may be wrong about the last.” “You’re impulsive--but good-natured.” “Oh, rather. A kind heart beneath a rough exterior, eh?” “I’m quite serious.” “Are you? I’m not.” She frisked along in front of him, revelling in the rustle of last autumn’s leaves. “Do you know what I should do if I were serious?” she asked suddenly, when he had caught up to her. “No.” She walked a little way in silence, kicking up the dried leaves with her toes. “What would you do?” he said. Her voice became fierce. “I should----” she began, and stopped. She walked a few steps as if pondering, then she laughed airily and tossed her head. “I really don’t know what I should do. Only I’m certain of one thing: I shouldn’t be with you here.” She could almost feel the extent to which her conversation was mystifying him. Then she became quiet and submissive, nestling like a stray kitten at his side. She took his arm. “I’m going to lean on you,” she said; “I nearly fell over a tree root just there.” He looked gratified. For three or four minutes they walked on in silence. He had plenty he wished to say, but as a matter of fact he thought this particular silence, coming when it did, rather impressive, and he was unwilling to curtail it by a remark unworthy of its profundity. He was engaged in thinking of that remark, a remark that should not so much break the silence as guide it into still more profound depths. He had almost decided on what he should say when quickly and without any warning she snatched her arm from his and scampered a few paces ahead. “Oh, George,” she cried, with an extraordinary mingling of passion and irritation, “do say something! For God’s sake keep up the conversation! We’ve been a quarter of an hour without a word. Say something, anything you like--only I can’t stand this mooning about under the trees saying nothing!” “You’re in a very extraordinary mood to-night,” he said deliberately. He was genuinely disappointed. “I am, or I shouldn’t have come with you,” she replied bluntly. “Do you dislike me, then?” he asked, with a kind of injured dignity. “Oh no--oh, don’t let’s talk seriously. I tell you I don’t feel serious to-night.” “Well, you won’t need to be. We’re going to have a very jolly evening.”