“He’s like Bottom and the ass’s head,” she said.
“Then I’m Titania—don’t I make a lovely fairy queen, Bully Bottom?—and who’s jealous Oberon?”
“He reminds me of that man in Hedda Gabler—crowned with vine leaves—oh, yes, vine leaves,” said Emily.
“How’s your mare’s sprain, Mr. Tempest?” George asked, taking no notice of the flowers in his hair.
“Oh—she’ll soon be all right, thanks.”
“Ah—George told me about it,” put in the father, and he held Leslie in conversation.
“Am I in check, George?” said Alice, returning to the game. She knitted her brows and cogitated:
“Pooh!” she said, “that’s soon remedied!”—she moved her piece, and said triumphantly, “Now, Sir!”
He surveyed the game, and, with deliberation moved. Alice pounced on him; with a leap of her knight she called “check!”
“I didn’t see it—you may have the game now,” he said.