Mother.
Yes, child, the fashion runs on, till it can’t get any further, and has to turn back. This dress has gone out of fashion ten times already, and has always come in again.
Clara.
But not quite, this time, mother. The sleeves are too wide. Don’t be cross with me now!
Mother (smiling).
No, I should be you if I were!
Clara.
And so that’s what you looked like! But surely you wore a garland, too?
Mother.
I should think so! Why else do you suppose I tended the myrtle-bush in the flower-pot all these years?