“Ah. Mrs. Loveystock.” Jeeves greeted the flower peddler, who in the thin light of dawn stood sorting her stock basket. “Might you have a dozen roses?”
“Roses, eh? She squinted over her armload of fern.
“Red, if you please. Or pink.”
“Not wearing that, I’d wager.” She grinned. “Lady friend?”
“For my employer.” Jeeve’s glare would have stifled a dowager.
“Oh! A LADY lady.” The old Cockney was built of sterner stuff. “Not come seven a.m. and he sends you for roses? Lad’s been lucky.”
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Date: 2012-10-15 06:17 am (UTC)“Ah. Mrs. Loveystock.” Jeeves greeted the flower peddler, who in the thin light of dawn stood sorting her stock basket. “Might you have a dozen roses?”
“Roses, eh? She squinted over her armload of fern.
“Red, if you please. Or pink.”
“Not wearing that, I’d wager.” She grinned. “Lady friend?”
“For my employer.” Jeeve’s glare would have stifled a dowager.
“Oh! A LADY lady.” The old Cockney was built of sterner stuff. “Not come seven a.m. and he sends you for roses? Lad’s been lucky.”
“It is not my place to comment. Nor yours.”
“Mum as the grave, that’s me.”