OLLIVANT. I guess it isn't up to its usual standard. Haven't seen your mother there so often this spring.
EMILY. [Quietly.] This dry spell is not good for flowers.
OLLIVANT. It's only the cultivated flowers that need care; can't help thinking that when I see the wild ones so hardy in my fields on the hill. [Turning to Emily and patting her.] Is there any of that spray mixture left, Emily, dear?
EMILY. I haven't looked lately.
OLLIVANT. I'll order some to-morrow. [Taking up his pipe again and looking for the tobacco.] Think it would be a good idea, daughter, if you'd spray those rosebushes every couple of weeks. The bugs are a pest this spring. Where's my tobacco?
EMILY. On the mantel.
OLLIVANT. Wish you would always leave it on the table; you know how I hate to have things changed.
[Ollivant goes to the mantel, filling his pipe, and while his back is turned, Mary makes a quick questioning gesture to her mother, who sighs helplessly. Mary ponders a moment.]
MARY. How's Ben been doing these two years, father?
OLLIVANT. Hasn't your brother written you?