Philip.
[Partly in jest, partly seriously.] Do the buds still sprout on those trees in the Allée de Longchamp and the Champs-Elysées, can you tell me?
Ottoline.
[Falling in with his humour.] Ha, ha! Every spring, cher ami, regularly.
Philip.
And the milk at the Café d'Armenonville and the Pré-Catelan—is it still rich and delectable?
Ottoline.
To the young, I assume; scarcely to the aged widow——!
Philip.
Or the grey-haired scribbler! Ha, ha, ha, ha!