She began the alterations, while Philip stood watching her progress, a shade of melancholy gathering on his face. Suddenly, a voice called ‘Laura! Are you there? Open the door, and you will see.’
On Philip’s opening it, in came a tall camellia; the laughing face, and light, shining curls of the bearer peeping through the dark green leaves.
‘Thank you! Oh, is it you, Philip? Oh, don’t take it. I must bring my own camellia to show Charlie.’
‘You make the most of that one flower,’ said Charles.
‘Only see how many buds!’ and she placed it by his sofa. Is it not a perfect blossom, so pure a white, and so regular! And I am so proud of having beaten mamma and all the gardeners, for not another will be out this fortnight; and this is to go to the horticultural show. Sam would hardly trust me to bring it in, though it was my nursing, not his.’
‘Now, Amy,’ said Philip, when the flower had been duly admired, ‘you must let me put it into the window, for you. It is too heavy for you.’
‘Oh, take care,’ cried Amabel, but too late; for, as he took it from her, the solitary flower struck against Charles’s little table, and was broken off.
‘O Amy, I am very sorry. What a pity! How did it happen?’
‘Never mind,’ she answered; ‘it will last a long time in water.’
‘It was very unlucky—I am very sorry—especially because of the horticultural show.’