ving guessed that it
was long ago!" retorted Mrs. Blyth. "Have you forgotten how you praised
that very drawing, when you saw it begun in the studio? Didn't you tell
Madonna--"

"Oh! the dear, good, generous, jolly little soul!" cried Zack, snatching
up the drawing from the couch, as the truth burst upon him at last in a
flash of conviction. "Tell her on _your_ fingers, Mrs. Blyth, how proud
I am of my present. I can't do it with mine, because I can't let go of
the drawing. Here, look here!--make her look here, and see how I like
it!" And Zack hugged the copy of the Venus de' Medici to his waistcoat,
by way of showing how highly he prized it.

At this outburst of sentimental pantomime, Madonna raised her head and
glanced at young Thorpe. Her face, downcast, anxious, and averted
even from Mrs. Blyth's eyes during the last few minutes (as if she had
guessed every word that could pain her, out of all that had been said in
her presence), now brightened again with pleasure as she looked up--with
innocent, childish pleasure, that affected no reserve, dreaded no
misconstruction, foreboded no disappointment. Her eyes, turning quickly
from Zack, and appealing gaily to Valentine, beamed with triumph when he
pointed to the drawing, and smilingly raised his hands in astonishment,
as a sign that he had been pleasantly surprised by the presentation of
her drawing to his new pupil. Mrs. Blyth felt the hand which she still
held in hers, and which had hitherto trembled a little from time to
time, grow steady and warm in her grasp, and dropped it. There was no
fear that Madonna would now leave the side of the couch and steal away
by herself to the fireplace.

"Go on, Mrs. Blyth--you never make mistakes in talking on your fingers,
and I always do--go on, please, and tell her how much I thank her,"
continued Zack, holding out the drawing at arm's length, and looking at
it with his head on one side, by way of imitating Valentine's manner
of studying his own pictures. "Tell her I'll take such care of it as I
never took of anything before in my life. Tell her I'll hang it up in my
bed-room, where I can see it every morning as soon as I wake. Have you
told her that?--or shall I write it on her slate? Hullo! here comes the
tea. And, by heavens, a whole bagful of muffins! What!!! the kitchen
fire's too black to toast them. _I'll_ undertake the whole lot in the
drawing academy. Here, Patty, give us the toasting-fork: I'm going to
begin. I never