"They're done up close, like a dahlia's," said the Tiger-lily; "not tumbled about, like yours."
"But that's not your fault," the Rose added, kindly. "You're beginning to fade, you know—and then one can't help one's petals getting a little untidy."
Alice didn't like this idea at all; so, to change the subject, she asked, "Does she ever come out here?"
"I dare say you'll see her soon," said the Rose. "She's one of the kind that has nine spikes, you know."
"Where does she wear them?" Alice asked, with some curiosity.
"Why, all round her head, of course," the Rose replied. "I was wondering you hadn't got some, too. I thought it was the regular rule."
"She's coming!" cried the Larkspur. "I hear her footstep—thump, thump—along the gravel-walk!"
Alice looked round eagerly and found
