He got to his feet suddenly.
"What?" He asked hoarsely. "What flowers did you say?"
"Why, rhododendrons—and lilies,—and—lilies. What is it, Billy?"
"Go on, Gina. Go on!"
"Billy!"
"Lilies of the valley and violets, Gina—"
"And roses;" she finished mechanically.
"What kind of roses, Gina?"
The puzzled frown left her face.
"Glorious roses, Billy." She was enthusiastic again. "There've never been roses like these. Why, there's one kind of a rose. It's known all over now. It took her years and years to grow it."