She glanced at me gravely and sighed a long, deeply felt “Yes.”
A long pause.
The thing seemed to me to amount to a stale-mate. Fear came into my heart and much perplexity.
“The—er—Roses,” I said. I felt like a drowning man. “Those roses—don’t you think they are—very beautiful flowers?”
“Aren’t they!” she agreed gently. “There seems to be something in roses—something—I don’t know how to express it.”
“Something,” I said helpfully.
“Yes,” she said, “something. Isn’t there?”
“So few people see it,” I said; “more’s the pity!”
She sighed and said again very softly, “Yes.”...
There was another long pause. I looked at her and she was thinking dreamily. The drowning sensation returned, the fear and enfeeblement. I perceived by a sort of inspiration that her tea-cup was empty.