"I say, young gentleman," she continued, addressing Zack after Mr.Blyth had left her to look for the cards, "what nonsense are you writing on our darling's slate that puts her all in a flutter, and makes her blush up to the eyes, when she's only looking at her poor old Peck?
Bless her heart! she's just as easily amused now as when she was a child.

Give us another kiss, my own little love.

You understand what I mean, don't you, though you can't hear me?
Ah, dear, dear! when she stands and looks at me with her eyes like that, she's the living image of--" "Cribbage," cried Mr.Blyth, knocking a triangular board for three players on the table, and regarding Mrs.Peckover with the most reproachful expression that his features could assume.
She felt that the look had been deserved, and approached the card-table rather confusedly, without uttering another word.

But for Valentine's second interruption she would have declared, before young Thorpe, that "little Mary" was the living image of her mother.
"Madonna's going to play, as usual.

Will you make the third, Lavvie ?" inquired Valentine, shuffling the cards.