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Would you like a Smartie? I asked Pliny the Elder, waving a plastic bag in front of his nose.

No, thank you, said Pliny, peering into the bag. There aren't any red ones.

Aren't there? I said, affecting surprise.

And they don't look like real Smarties, added Pliny.

They're not. It was a trick question. If you'd said no, I would have asked you if you'd like one of these.

But I did say no.

Yes, and then you offered an opinion which rendered my next question redundant.

I am sorry. And what if I'd said yes?

I didn't expect you to say yes.

I would have said yes, had there been any red ones.

You would? But I thought you had read my poem. I thought it had set you off wondering in what sense the Smarties were real. I thought you had pretty much decided that they were fake Smarties, with a real existence. And I thought that you had been looking for them. And found them. And eaten all the red ones.

No, said Pliny, blandly. You have imagined all that.