were frequently repeated.

"It was an accident," said Flora; and, to change the conversation, she
praised the beauty of the geranium; she gathered one of the fragrant
leaves, but, as she was going to put it amongst the flowers in her bosom,
she observed she had dropped her moss-rose. It was a rarity at this time
of year: it was a rose which Henry Camphell had raised in a conservatory
of his own construction.

"Oh, my brother's beautiful rose!" exclaimed Flora.

Forester, who had been much pleased by her good-nature about the stains
on the flower-pot, now, contrary to his habits, sympathized with her
concern for the loss of her brother's moss-rose. He even exerted himself
so far as to search under the benches and under the supper-table. He was
fortunate enough to find it; and eager to restore the prize, he with more
than his usual gallantry, but not with less than his customary
awkwardness, crept from under the table, and, stretching half his body
over a bench, pushed his arm between two young ladies into the midst of
the group which surrounded Flora. As his arm extended his wrist appeared,
and at the sight of that wrist all the young ladies shrank back, with
unequivocal tokens of disgust. They whispered--they tittered; and many
expressive looks were lost upon our hero, who still resolutely held out
the hand upon which every eye was fixed. "Here's your rose! Is not this
the rose?" said he, still advancing the dreaded hand to Flora, whose
hesitation and blushes surprised him. Mackenzie burst into a loud laugh;
and in a whisper, which all the ladies could hear, told Forester, that
"Miss Campbell was afraid to take the rose out of his hands, lest she
should catch from him what he had caught from the carter who had brought
him to Edinburgh, or from some of his companions at the cobbler's."