"That is strange, seeing how I live in a dull country garden like a snail, or a cabbage."
"Like a wild rose, dear. At least Vivian would say so."
"Mr. Paslow says more than he means," responded Beatrice, blushing redder than the flower mentioned, "and I dare say Jerry does also."
"No, dear. Jerry hasn't sufficient imagination."
"He ought to have, being a journalist."
"Those are the very people who never imagine anything. They find their facts on every hedge."
"Is that an unworthy pun on my name?"
"Certainly not, Miss Hedge," said the other with dignity; "Jerry shan't find anything on you, or in you, save a friend, else I shall be horribly jealous. As to Vivian, he would murder his future brother-in-law if he caught him admiring you; and I don't want to begin my married life with a corpse."
"Naturally. You wisely prefer the marriage service to the burial ditto, my clever Dinah."
"I'm not clever, and I really don't know how to answer your sharp speeches, seeing that I am a plain country girl."