Infects me, to my shame: but as all feelings
Of yours are common to me, it affects me.
Prithee, sweet child, change——
Ida.Child, indeed! I have
Full fifteen summers![A bugle sounds.
Rod.Hark, my Lord, the bugle!
Ida (peevishly to Rodolph).
Why need you tell him that? Can he not hear it
Without your echo?
Rod.Pardon me, fair Baroness!