“Yes,” said Cathalina, “Hilary and I both owe our Greycliff days to the suggestions of our aunts.”
“What part have you, Hilary?” asked Isabel.
“I’m Theseus, duke of Athens, aha! And my fair Hippolyta is Pauline, because, as she says, they thought she was cast for an Amazon. Hippolyta is queen of the Amazons, you know.”
“I read the play once,” said Isabel, with a laugh, “but I’ll have to read it up before the play is given or I won’t enjoy it so much. Let me see,—who’s Hermia?”
“Evelyn, because she is little and dark, and Lysander is Helen. Won’t it be great?—Lysander and Hermia making love in that soft southern accent?”
“Yes, and Evelyn using her eyes as Hermia. Evelyn couldn’t help it if she tried.”
“There is another pair of lovers—?”
“Yes, Helena, you know, who is terribly in love with Demetrius, and he wants Hermia, till the fairies fix that all up.”
“Modern interpretation of Shakespeare by Hilary Lancaster,” murmured Cathalina.
“Wait till you hear me say with dramatic effect as Theseus,—‘but earthlier happy is the rose distill’d, than that which withering on the virgin thorn, grows, lives and dies in single blessedness.’”