Annie. Come, show them all, Rose.
[Rose slowly unfolds the paper and shows them all a hothouse carnation and a fern.
Rose. There ’tis, then.
Dorry. O my, Rosie—isn’t it beautiful. Be you going to wear it to the dance?
Rose. No, Dorry, ’tisn’t for me.
Annie. You just ask her for whom it is, then, Dorry.
Dorry. O, who is it for, Rosie—who is it for?
Rose. No—I’m not a-going to tell none of you.
[She wraps it up carefully again.
Annie. I’ll tell then, for you.