And the gentle ’Rosalind,’ too, was conscious that these men were looking at her. How could it be Arden forest to her—how could she be ’Rosalind’ at all—if she was aware of the presence of such people, if she feared their inattention, and shrank from their laugh? "What the papers have said about her is right," said Will to himself. "Something must have happened to dispirit her or upset her, and she seems not to care much about the part." The charm of her acting was there—one could sit and watch with an extreme delight the artistic manipulation of those means which are obviously at the actor’s hand—but there was a subtle something wanting in the play. It was pretty and interesting while it lasted; but one could have permitted it to drop at any moment without regret. There is, as everybody knows, a charming scene in the drama, in which ’Rosalind,’ disguised as a youth, coaxes ’Orlando’ to reveal all his love for her. There is in it every variety of coy bashfulness, and wayward fun, and half-suggested tenderness which an author could conceive or the most accomplished actress desire to represent. When ’Orlando’ wishes he could convince this untoward page of his extreme love for ’Rosalind,’ the disguised ’Rosalind’ says merrily, "Me believe it? You may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do, than to confess she does: that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth," she adds, suddenly changing her tone into tender, trustful entreaty, "are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein ’Rosalind’ is so admired?" And then again she asks, "But _are_ you so much in love as your rhymes speak?" ’Rosalind’ turned the side of her face to her lover, as if her ear wished to drink in the sweet assurance; and her eyes, which fronted the audience, stared vacantly before her, as if they too were only interested in listening; while a light, happy smile dawned upon her lips. Suddenly the eyes, vacantly gazing into the deep theatre, seemed to start into a faint surprise, and a deadly pallor overspread her face. She tried to collect herself—’Orlando’ had already answered—she stumbled, looked half-wildly at him for a moment, and then burst into tears. The house was astonished, and then struck with a fit of admiration which expressed itself in rounds of applause. To them it was no hysterical climax to a long series of sad and solitary reveries, but a transcendant piece of stage effect. It was the over-excited ’Rosalind’ who had just then burst into tears of joy on learning how much her lover loved her.