r's
dressing-room for bad behavior at church--he might have guessed long ago
why he was the only one of Madonna's old friends whom she did not permit
to kiss her on the cheek!

But Zack neither guessed, nor thought of guessing, anything of this
sort. His flighty thoughts flew off in a moment from the young lady
to his cigar-case; and he walked away to the hearth-rug, twisting up a
piece of waste paper into a lighter as he went.

When Madonna returned to her drawing, her eyes wandered timidly once or
twice to the place where Zack was standing, when she thought he was
not looking at her; and, assuredly, so far as personal appearance was
concerned, young Thorpe was handsome enough to tempt any woman into
glancing at him with approving eyes. He was over six feet in height;
and, though then little more than nineteen years old, was well developed
in proportion to his stature. His boxing, rowing, and other athletic
exercises had done wonders towards bringing his naturally vigorous,
upright frame to the perfection of healthy muscular condition. Tall and
strong as he was, there was nothing stiff or ungainly in his movements,
He trod easily and lightly, with a certain youthful suppleness and hardy
grace in all his actions, which set off his fine bodily formation to the
best advantage. He had keen, quick, mischievous grey eyes--a thoroughly
English red and white complexion--admirably bright and regular
teeth--and curly light brown hair, with a very peculiar golden tinge
in it, which was only visible when his head was placed in a particular
light. In short, Zack was a manly, handsome fellow, a thorough Saxon,
every inch of him; and (physically speaking at least) a credit to the
parents and the country that had given him birth.

"I say, Blyth, do you and Madonna mind smoke?" asked Zack, lighting his
cigar before there was time to answer him.

"No--no," said Valentine. "But, Zack, you wrote me word that your father
had taken all your cigars away from you--"

"So he has, and all my pocket-money too. But I've taken to helping
myself, and I've got some splendid cigars. Try one, Blyth," said the
young gentleman, luxuriously puffing out a stream of smoke through each
nostril.

"Taken to helping yourself!" exclaimed Mr. Blyth. "What do you mean?"

"Oh!" said Zack, "don't be afraid. It's not thieving--it's only barter.
Look here, my dear fellow, this is how it is. A friend of mine, a junior
clerk in our office, has three dozen cigar