[Laura comes slowly forward, carrying the basket of vegetables on one arm. She holds a handkerchief to her face and is crying.
Julia. Why, Laura, what has made you cry so sadly?
Laura. O, Julia, ’twas a rare red rose as I held in my hand, and a rare cruel thorn that came from it and did prick me.
Julia. And a rare basket of green stuff that you have been getting.
Laura. [Sinking down on the seat, and weeping violently.] His dear gift to me!
Julia. [Looking into the basket.] O a wonderful fine gift, to be sure. Young carrots and spring cabbage. I’ve had a gift offered too—but mine was jowls.
Laura. Jowls. O, and did you not take them?
Julia. No, I sent them back to the giver, with the dry heart which was along with them in the same basket.
Laura. O Julia, how could you be so hard and cruel?
Julia. Come, wouldn’t you have done the same?