Pierre.
But he looked at me so questioningly, so--so mournfully--why, it was really most annoying the way he looked at me.
Julia.
At a Hungarian watering-place!
Pierre.
And then, later, mamma said to him, "It's a dreadful pity your dear wife isn't here just now. She does so love the roses."
Julia.
And what did he say?
Pierre.
"Our roses are not thriving very well this year," said he.