The light was mellow golden-green, and birds were singing in the boughs above her.

In a few minutes he stopped.
"Now look up," he said.
She uttered an exclamation when she did so.

She was in a fairy dell thick with ferns, and at beautiful distances from each other incredibly splendid oaks spread and almost trailed their lovely giant branches.

The glow shining through and between them, the shadows beneath them, their great boles and moss-covered roots, and the stately, mellow distances revealed under their branches, the ancient wildness and richness, which meant, after all, centuries of cultivation, made a picture in this exact, perfect moment of ripening afternoon sun of an almost unbelievable beauty.
"There is nothing lovelier," he said in a low voice, "in all England." Bettina turned to look at him, because his tone was a curious one for a man like himself.

He was standing resting on his gun and taking in the loveliness with a strange look in his rugged face.
"You--you love it!" she said.
"Yes," but with a suggestion of stubborn reluctance in the admission.
She was rather moved.
"Have you been keeper here long ?" she asked.
"No--only a few years.