Clara Durrant procured the stockings, played the sonata, filled the vases, fetched the pudding, left the cards, and when the great invention of paper flowers to swim in finger-bowls was discovered, was one of those who most marvelled at their brief lives.
Nor were there wanting poets to celebrate the theme.

Edwin Mallett, for example, wrote his verses ending: /* And read their doom in Chloe's eyes, */ which caused Clara to blush at the first reading, and to laugh at the second, saying that it was just like him to call her Chloe when her name was Clara.

Ridiculous young man! But when, between ten and eleven on a rainy morning, Edwin Mallett laid his life at her feet she ran out of the room and hid herself in her bedroom, and Timothy below could not get on with his work all that morning on account of her sobs.
"Which is the result of enjoying yourself," said Mrs.Durrant severely, surveying the dance programme all scored with the same initials, or rather they were different ones this time--R.B.

instead of E.M.; Richard Bonamy it was now, the young man with the Wellington nose.
"But I could never marry a man with a nose like that," said Clara.
"Nonsense," said Mrs.Durrant.
"But I am too severe," she thought to herself.

For Clara, losing all vivacity, tore up her dance programme and threw it in the fender.
Such were the very serious consequences of the invention of paper flowers to swim in bowls.
"Please," said Julia Eliot, taking up her position by the curtain almost opposite the door, "don't introduce me.