"Oh, Mr. Forester, take care!" cried Flora.

"Of what?" said Forester, starting.

"It is too late now," said Flora.

And it was too late. Forester, in his awkward manner of lifting the
flower-pot and its painted case, had put his thumbs into the mould, with
which the flower-pot had been newly filled. It was quite soft and wet.
Flora, when she called to him, saw the two black thumbs just ready to
stamp themselves upon her work, and her warning only accelerated its
fate; for, the instant she spoke, the thumbs closed upon the painted
covering, and Forester was the last to perceive the mischief that he had
done.

There was no possibility of effacing the stains, nor was there time to
repair the damage, for the ball was to commence in a few hours, and Flora
was obliged to send her disfigured work, without having had the
satisfaction of hearing the ejaculation which Forester pronounced in her
praise behind the flower-pot.



THE BALL.


Henry seized the moment when Forester was softened by the mixed effect of
Dr. Campbell's raillery and Flora's good humour, to persuade him, that it
would be perfectly consistent with sound philosophy to dress himself for