mr. voysey discards the Times and sits to his desk and his letters.
mr. voysey. Tell Mr. Edward I've come.
peacey. Yes, sir. Anything else?
mr. voysey. Not for the moment. Cold morning, isn't it?
peacey. Quite surprising, sir.
mr. voysey. We had a touch of frost down at Chislehurst.
peacey. So early!
mr. voysey. I want it for the celery. All right, I'll call through about the rest of the letters.
peacey goes, having secured a letter or two, and mr. voysey having sorted the rest (a proportion into the waste paper basket) takes up the forgotten roses and starts setting them into a bowl with an artistic hand. Then his son edward comes in. mr. voysey gives him one glance and goes on arranging the roses but says cheerily. .
mr. voysey. Good morning, my dear boy.