“I wouldn’t know her if she was handed to me on a plate with parsley trimmings,” said Bud promptly.
“—Di Vernon, then, and Effie Deans, and Little Nell, and the Marchioness; and Richard Swiveller, and Tom Pinch, and the Cranford folks, and Juliet Capulet—”
“She must belong to one of the first families,” said Bud. “I have a kind of idea that I have heard of her.”
“And Mr Falstaff—such a naughty man, but nice too! And Rosalind.”
“Rosalind!” cried Bud. “You mean Rosalind in ‘As You Like It’?”
Ailie stared at her with astonishment. “You amazing child!” said she, “who told you about ‘As You Like It’?”
“Nobody told me; I just read about her when Jim was learning the part of Charles the Wrestler he played on six ’secutive nights in the Waldorf.”
“Read it!” exclaimed her aunt. “You mean he or Mrs Molyneux read it to you.”
“No, I read it myself,” said Bud.
“‘Now my co-mates and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious Court?’”