"From my gardener, Dibden, I declare," said he—a look of childlike pleasure taking possession of his features, as he regarded the flowers which smelt sweeter than all the rest—and then handing them to Mabel, he begged her to accept them.
Mabel held out her hand, and looked much gratified as she took them; but no sooner had she done so, than the color rushed to Caroline's cheek, and a scowl darkened her beautiful features, as she regarded her with ill-concealed malignity. Her own bouquet no longer appeared the finest, and flinging it on the table with such violence, that the head of a camelia was broken from it, she said, angrily—
"I will have no second bests."
"My dear," said her mother, trembling, "yours is, I am sure, the prettiest."
"Do you think I have no eyes," returned Caroline, "or that I am going to be eclipsed in my own house?"
Hargrave stood amazed, for hitherto her temper had been greatly concealed from him, and he was surprised to see features, lately beaming with smiles, now darkened and disfigured by rage, while he felt something very like disgust at the jealousy which so openly betokened a preference for himself. Mabel stood, with her eyes fixed on the flowers she held in her hand, too pained to look up; then suddenly remembering herself, she offered them to Caroline, saying—
"I am glad I have anything to offer you, that you really like—pray take it."
Caroline, however, was too provoked to be easily pacified by this display, as she believed it, of superior sweetness of temper, and roughly pushing aside Mabel's extended hand, the flowers fell to the ground.
Hargrave looked from one to the other in mute surprise; and Mrs. Villars, terrified at her daughter's ungovernable temper, and mistaking his look for vexation, hurriedly interposed.
"Oh, my dear, now do take what Mabel offers you—do, my dear, if you have a fancy for it—I am sure Henry intended to give you the best—who could think you would prefer a few white flowers to that lovely collection of geraniums. Come, my dear, now do have it."