Farncombe.
Another ice?
Lily.
Rearranging a rose, almost inaudibly. No, thanks.
Farncombe.
After a pause. I—I wish I had given you a bouquet instead of a big, ugly basket.
Lily.
Why?
Farncombe.
You—you might have brought it to the theatre, as you have that one, and carried it about with you.