"My dear Francesca," I said, "how charming you are to count me as a child! I shall really begin to feel as if there were golden threads among the silver."
"Tut-tut," she said, "you're not so grey as all that."
"Yes, I am," I said, "quite as grey as all that and much greyer; only we don't talk about it."
"But we do talk about sunflowers," she said, "don't we?"
"If you'll promise to have the beastly glaring things dug up—"
"Not," she said, "before we've extracted from them their last pip of chicken-food."
"Well, anyhow," I said, "as soon as possible. If you'll promise to do that I'll promise never to mention them again."
"But you'll lose your reputation with the Generals and Colonels."
"I don't mind that," I said, "if I can only rid the garden of their detested presence."
"My golden-threaded boy," said Francesca, "it shall be as you desire."