The Florist: "I am very sorry. I dtidn't subbose—But the oder attress must be here. I will fint it"—He begins tossing the papers about again.
The Lady, springing to her feet: "No, no! I wouldn't look at it now for the world! I have had one escape. Send me all jasmine, remember."
The Florist: "Yes, all chasmin." The lady goes slowly and absently toward the door, where she stops, and then she turns and goes back slowly, and as if forcing herself.
The Lady: "Mr. Eichenlaub."
The Florist: "Yes, matam."
The Lady: "Have you—plenty—of those white—Bride roses?"
The Florist: "I get all you want of them."
The Lady: "Open, fragile-looking ones, with long, slender stems?"
The Florist: "I get you any kindt you lige!"
The Lady: "Send me Bride roses, then. I don't care! I will not be frightened out of them! It is too foolish."