But that's not what I want to talk about now: it's a sort of secret.

In the first place--" "Do you usually mention your secrets in a voice that everybody can hear ?" asked Mrs.Blyth, laughing.
"Oh, never mind about that," he replied, not lowering his tone in the least; "it's only a secret from Madonna, and we can talk before _her,_ poor little soul, just as if she wasn't in the room.

Now this is the thing: she's made me a present, and I think I ought to show my gratitude by making her another in return." (He resumed his ordinary manner as he warmed with the subject, and began to walk up and down the room in his usual flighty way.) "Well, I have been thinking what the present ought to be--something pretty, of course.

I can't do her a drawing worth a farthing; and even if I could--" "Suppose you come here and sit down, Zack," interposed Mrs.Blyth.
"While you are wandering backwards and forwards in that way before the card-table, you take Madonna's attention off the game." No doubt he did.

How could she see him walking about close by her, and carrying her drawing with him wherever he went--as if he prized it too much to be willing to put it down--without feeling gratified in more than one of the innocent little vanities of her sex, without looking after him much too often to be properly alive to the interests of her game?
Zack took Mrs.Blyth's advice, and sat down by her, with his back towards the cribbage players.
"Well, the question is, What present am I to give her ?" he went on.
"I've been twisting and turning it over in my mind, and the long and the short of it is--" ("Fifteen two, fifteen four, and a pair's six," said Valentine, reckoning up the tricks he had in his hand at that moment.) "Did you ever notice that she has a particularly pretty hand and arm ?" proceeded Zack, somewhat evasively.