"It's a rather dangerous practice," I warned her.
Rosalind sighed, wearily; but in her cheek at about this time occurred a dimple.
"—I think that Rosalind must have thought the play very badly named."
"As You Like It?" I queried, obtusely.
"Yes—since it wasn't, for her."
It is unwholesome to lie on the ground after sunset.
4
"I had rather a scene with Alfred yesterday morning. He said you drank, and gambled, and were always running after—people, and weren't in fine, a desirable person for me to know. He insinuated, in fact, that you were a villain of the very deepest and non-crocking dye. He told me of instances. His performance would have done credit to Ananias. I was mad! So I gave him his old ring back, and told him things I can't tell you,—no, not just yet, dear. He is rather like a muffin, isn't he?" she said, with the lightest possible little laugh—"particularly like one that isn't quite done."
"Oh, Rosalind," I babbled, "I mean to prove that you were right. And I will prove it, too!"
And indeed I meant all that I said—just then.