"Lovely things," he murmured in a rather maudlin voice. "I am glad you like them, Grisel."
"Glad? Why?"
His small eyes looked at her reproachfully.
"My dear girl," he said, "don't you understand, don't you realise why they are my favourite flowers?"
She stared for a moment and then rose impatiently.
"Oh, of course, 'Dorothy Perkins,'" she said shortly. "Come along in, it's too hot here."
As he followed her, Mr. Wick treated himself to a silent chuckle, and kicked over the edge of the veranda the clump of roses she had dropped.