It was like the contrast between a rough, dark, overgrown puppy and a white kitten.

Lucy put up the neatest little rosebud mouth to be kissed; everything about her was neat,--her little round neck, with the row of coral beads; her little straight nose, not at all snubby; her little clear eyebrows, rather darker than her curls, to match hazel eyes, which looked up with shy pleasure at Maggie, taller by the head, though scarcely a year older.

Maggie always looked at Lucy with delight.
She was fond of fancying a world where the people never got any larger than children of their own age, and she made the queen of it just like Lucy, with a little crown on her head, and a little sceptre in her hand--only the queen was Maggie herself in Lucy's form.
"Oh, Lucy," she burst out, after kissing her, "you'll stay with Tom and me, won't you?
Oh, kiss her, Tom." Tom, too, had come up to Lucy, but he was not going to kiss her--no; he came up to her with Maggie, because it seemed easier, on the whole, than saying, "How do you do ?" to all those aunts and uncles.

He stood looking at nothing in particular, with the blushing, awkward air and semi-smile which are common to shy boys when in company,--very much as if they had come into the world by mistake, and found it in a degree of undress that was quite embarrassing.
"Heyday!" said aunt Glegg, with loud emphasis.

"Do little boys and gells come into a room without taking notice of their uncles and aunts?
That wasn't the way when _I_ was a little gell." "Go and speak to your aunts and uncles, my dears," said Mrs.Tulliver, looking anxious and melancholy.