I turned my head, but without moving otherwise, for I feared lest the arms should untwine themselves; and clear, somewhat mournful eyes met mine.

At least that is how they impressed me; but I could see very little of colour or outline as we sat in the dark and rainy shadow of the tree.

The face seemed very lovely, and solemn from its stillness; with the aspect of one who is quite content, but waiting for something.

I saw my conjecture from her arms was correct: she was above the human scale throughout, but not greatly.
"Why do you call yourself a beech-tree ?" I said.
"Because I am one," she replied, in the same low, musical, murmuring voice.
"You are a woman," I returned.
"Do you think so?
Am I very like a woman then ?" "You are a very beautiful woman.

Is it possible you should not know it ?" "I am very glad you think so.