y word, I
cannot understand how I thought Flora so much, that is, so very much,
handsomer than Rose. She is taller indeed, and her manner more formed;
but many people think Miss Bradwardine's more natural; and she is
certainly much younger. I should think Flora is two years older than I
am. I will look at them particularly this evening.'

And with this resolution Waverley went to drink tea (as the fashion was
Sixty Years Since) at the house of a lady of quality attached to the
cause of the Chevalier, where he found, as he expected, both the ladies.
All rose as he entered, but Flora immediately resumed her place and the
conversation in which she was engaged. Rose, on the contrary, almost
imperceptibly made a little way in the crowded circle for his advancing
the corner of a chair. 'Her manner, upon the whole, is most engaging,'
said Waverley to himself.

A dispute occurred whether the Gaelic or Italian language was most
liquid, and best adapted for poetry; the opinion for the Gaelic, which
probably might not have found supporters elsewhere, was here fiercely
defended by seven Highland ladies, who talked at the top of their lungs,
and screamed the company deaf with examples of Celtic euphonia. Flora,
observing the Lowland ladies sneer at the comparison, produced some
reasons to show that it was not altogether so absurd; but Rose, when
asked for her opinion, gave it with animation in praise of Italian, which
she had studied with Waverley's assistance. "She has a more correct ear
than Flora, though a less accomplished musician," said Waverley to
himself. 'I suppose Miss Mac-Ivor will next compare Mac-Murrough nan Fonn
to Ariosto!'

Lastly, it so befell that the company differed whether Fergus should be
asked to perform on the flute, at which he was an adept, or Waverley
invited to read a play of Shakspeare; and the lady of the house
good-humouredly undertook to collect the votes of the company for poetry
or music, under the condition that the gentleman whose talents were not
laid under contribution that evening should contribute them to enliven
the next. It chanced that Rose had the casting vote. Now Flora, who
seemed to impose it as a rule upon herself never to countenance any
proposal which might seem to encourage Waverley, had voted for music,
providing the Baron would take his violin to accompany Fergus. 'I wish
you joy of your taste, Miss Mac-Ivor,' thought Edward, as they sought for
his book. 'I thought it better w