net trembled aguishly on her head, the good woman advanced,
shaking every moveable object in the room, straight to the tea-table,
and enfolded Madonna in her capacious arms. The girl's light figure
seemed to disappear in a smothering circumambient mass of bonnet ribbons
and unintelligible drapery, as Mrs. Peckover saluted her with a rattling
fire of kisses, the report of which was audible above the voluble
talking of Mr. Blyth and the boisterous laughter of Zack.

"I'll tell you all about how I came here directly, sir; only I couldn't
help saying how-d'ye-do in the old way to little Mary to begin with,"
said Mrs. Peckover apologetically. It had been found impossible to
prevail on her to change the familiar name of "little Mary," which she
had pronounced so often and so fondly in past years, for the name which
had superseded it in Valentine's house. The truth was, that this worthy
creature knew nothing whatever about Raphael; and, considering "Madonna"
to be an outlandish foreign word intimately connected with Guy Fawkes
and the Gunpowder Plot, firmly believed that no respectable Englishwoman
ought to compromise her character by attempting to pronounce it.

"I'll tell you, sir--I'll tell you directly why I've come to London,"
repeated Mrs. Peckover, backing majestically from the tea-table, and
rolling round easily on her own axis in the direction of the couch, to
ask for the fullest particulars of the state of Mrs. Blyth's health.

"Much better, my good friend--much better," was the cheerful answer;
"but do tell us (we are so glad to see you!) how you came to surprise us
all in this way?"

"Well, ma'am," began Mrs. Peckover, "it's almost as great a surprise to
me to be in London, as it is--Be quiet, young Good-for-Nothing; I won't
even shake hands with you if you don't behave yourself!" These last
words she addressed to Zack, whose favorite joke it had always been,
from the day of their first acquaintance at Valentine's house, to
pretend to be violently in love with her. He was now standing with his
arms wide open, the toasting-fork in one hand and the muffin he had
burnt in the other, trying to look languishing, and entreating Mrs.
Peckover to give him a kiss.

"When you know how to toast a muffin properly, p'raps I may give you
one," said she, chuckling as triumphantly over her own small retort as
if she had been a professed wit. "Do, Mr. Blyth, sir, please to keep him
quiet, or I shan't be able to get on with a si