"Yes."
"You're awfully busy."
"Yes."
"The new stuff's coming in."
"Yes."
"Are you coming, Roger?"
"Yes, Alwynne."
"Then, Roger dear—if you are coming, and it's no bother, and you can spare them, would you bring me a tiny bunch of your roses? Not for me—for Clare. She does love them so. Do, Roger!"
"I'm hanged if I do," cried Roger, and went his wrathful way.
But he did. A big bunch. More than enough for Clare.