Lydia. Fruitless, fruitless! Why couldn't he have planted an apple tree? [Throwing her head back slightly.] With blossoms in the spring and fruit in the summer—
Harriet. I beg your pardon?
Lydia [wearily]. With blossoms in the spring and fruit in the summer. [Slowly and gazing toward the window.] Sounds rather pretty, doesn't it?
Harriet [unsympathetically]. I do not understand what you are talking about.
Lydia [shortly]. No.
Harriet. It is always a source of sorrow to me, Lydia, that you show so little pride in any of the really noble men in the Wilde family.
Lydia. I never knew them.
Harriet. But you could at least reverence what I tell you.
Lydia [cheerfully]. Well, I do think great-great-grandfather must have been a gay old person.
Harriet. Gay old person!