She (gently). No. They died. Have some more salad?
He. Thank you. I’m sorry. At least, you know what I mean.
She. The odd thing was that they all died at the same time—in a way.
He. Oh! Was there an epidemic, or what?
She. Oh, no. What I mean is they each died the night we were married.
He. That is curious. Why did they die?
She. Nobody knows. They just died. It’s given me a great deal of bother.
He. But I suppose you’ve been able to use the same trousseau in each case.
She. But nay; for I have invariably embroidered every garment in gold and silver with the name and image of my love.
He. By Jove, what a bore! I say, have you embroidered any garments with my name and image? I’d like to see them.