Laura. [Sobbing vehemently.] That I should not, Julia.
Julia. Perhaps you’ve seen the gentleman then?
Laura. I have. And O, Julia, he is a beautiful gentleman. I never saw one that was his like.
Julia. The rare red rose with its thorn, Laura.
Laura. He did lay the heart of him before me—thinking my name was Julia.
Julia. And did he lay the vegetables too?
Laura. ’Twas all the doing of a great fool, that man of his.
Julia. And you—did you give him what he asked of you—before he knew that your name was not Julia?
Laura. O, I did—that I did. [A short silence.
Julia. And could you forget the prick of the thorn, did you hold the rose again, Laura?