Covered with shame, she could make no answer. 'O, Miss Camilla! Miss Camilla!--ought not those flowers to belong to Miss Lynmere?' 'Mr. Mandlebert had promised me them yesterday morning,' answered she, in a voice scarce audible. 'And is this fair, Ma'am?--can you reckon it honourable?--I'll be judged by Sir Hugh himself. Do you think it right, Sir, that Miss Camilla should accept nosegays every day from Mr. Mandlebert, when her cousin has had never a one at all?' 'Why, it's not her fault, you know, Miss Margland, if young Mr. Mandlebert chuses to give them to her. However, if that vexes Indiana, I'm sure my niece will make them over to her with the greatest pleasure; for I never knew the thing she would not part with, much more a mere little smell at the nose, which, whether one has it or not, can't much matter after it's over.' Miss Margland now exultingly held out her hand: the decision was obliged to be prompt; Camilla delivered up the flowers, and ran into her own room. The sacrifice, cried she, is now complete! Edgar will conclude I hate him, and believe Indiana loves him!--no matter!--it is fitting he should think both. I will be steady this last evening, and to-morrow I will quit this fatal roof! CHAPTER V _An Author's Opinion of Visiting_ When summoned to tea, Camilla, upon entering the parlour, found Sir Hugh in mournful discourse with Edgar upon the non-appearance of Dr. Orkborne. Edgar felt a momentary disappointment that she did not honour his flowers with wearing them; but consoled himself with supposing she had preserved them in water. In a few minutes, however, Indiana appeared with them in her bosom. Almost petrified, he turned towards Camilla, who, affecting an air of unconcern, amused herself with patting a favourite old terrier of her uncle's. As soon as he could disengage himself from the Baronet, he leant also over the dog, and, in a low voice, said--'You have discarded, then, my poor flowers?' 'Have I not done right?' answered she, in the same tone; 'are they not where you must be far happier to see them?' 'Is it possible,' exclaimed he, 'Miss Camilla Tyrold can suppose----'. He stopt, for surprised off his guard, he was speaking loud, and he saw Miss Margland approaching. 'Don't you think, Mr. Mandlebert,' said she, 'that Miss Lynmere becomes a bouquet very much? she took a fancy to those flowers, and I think they are quite the thing for her.' 'She does them,' he coldly answered, 'too much honour.' Ah, Heaven! he loves her not! thought Camilla, and, while trembling between hope and terror at the suggestion, determined to redouble her circumspection, not to confirm the suspicion that his indifference was produced by her efforts to attach him to herself.