“Of course, Prince, your lilac is lovely and smells quite as it should. I love it.”
“Really, Imma? But I'm sorry for the poor rose-bush down in the court, because its roses disgust you with their mouldy smell.”
“I won't say that they disgust me, Prince.”
“But they disenchant and chill you, don't they?”
“Yes, perhaps.”
“But have I ever told you of the popular belief that the rose-bush will one day be redeemed, on a day of general happiness, and will bear roses which will add to their great beauty the gift of a lovely natural scent?”
“Well, Prince, we'll have to wait for that.”
“No, Imma, we must help and act! We must decide, and have done with all hesitation, little Imma! Tell me—tell me to-day—have you confidence in me?”
“Yes, Prince. I have gained confidence in you latterly.”
“There you are! Thank heaven! Didn't I say that I must succeed in the long run? And so you think now that I am in earnest, real, serious earnest about you and about us?”