'But sometimes one gets tired of solitude.'

'Would you like to share your solitude? You can have half of mine.'

'I'm sure it is very kind of you, but---' It was on Mildred's tongue
to ask him what he had done with Rose Turner. She said instead, 'and
where does your solitude hang out?'

'Chiefly in the forest. Shall we go there?'

'Is it far? I don't know where the others have gone.'

'They're in the forest, we walk there every evening; we shall meet
them.'

'How far is the forest?'

'At our door. We're in the forest. Come and see. There is the forest,'
he said, pointing to a long avenue. 'How bright the moonlight is, one
can read by this light.'

'And how wonderfully the shadows of the tall trunks fall across the
white road. How unreal, how phantasmal, is that grey avenue shimmering
in the moonlight.'

'Yes, isn't the forest ghostlike. And isn't that picturesque,' he
said, pointing to a booth that had been set up by the wayside. On a
tiny stage a foot or so from the ground, by the light of a lantern and
a few candle ends, a man and a woman were acting some rude
improvisation.