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However she sat resigned. She did not like Delorme, and her preference was all for another school of art. She had moreover a critical respect for her own features, and she did not want at all to see them rendered by what seemed to her the splashing violence of Delorme's brushwork. But Harry had asked it of her, and here she was.
"Really!" he said, handing it over to Monk "how could anyone resist such disarming expressions?" The captain thanked him solemnly and put the weapon away in his safe, together with the steel despatch-box and Liane Delorme's personal treasure of precious stones. With characteristic abruptness Liane Delorme announced that she was sleepy, it had been for her a most fatiguing day.
Her kind was always sure to seek, once its fortunes were on firm footing, to establish itself, as here, in the very heart of an exclusive residential district; as if thinking to absorb social sanctity through the simple act of rubbing shoulders with it; or else, as was more likely to be the case with a woman of Liane Delorme's temper, desiring more to affront a world from which she was outcast than to lay siege to its favour.
Old Maurice swallowed his bowl of hot grouse soup with relish, and clasped his son's hand with the firm grip one man gives to another. The anxious lines left Mrs. Delorme's face, as she laughed and praised young Maurice's prowess as a bread-winner.
"That was a delicious creature that sat by me last night." "Miss Penfold? She is one of your devotees." "She paints, so she said. Mon Dieu! Why do women paint?" Victoria, roused, hotly defended the right of her sex to ply any honest art in the world that might bring them either pleasure or money. "Mais la peinture!" Delorme's shoulder shrugged still higher.
Without disclaiming any credit that was rightly his due for making the performance possible, Lanyard felt obliged to concede that Liane's Delorme's confidence had been well reposed in the ability of Jules to drive by the clock.
It was no secret that Liane Delorme's panic flight from Popinot had hurried the yacht out of Cherbourg harbour four days earlier than her proposed sailing date, whereas the Sybarite had a rendezvous to keep with her owner at a certain hour of a certain night, an appointment carefully calculated with consideration for the phase of the moon and the height of the tide, therefore not readily to be altered.
The manager himself lifted poor, stiff, tired "Little" Maurice from the back of an equally stiff, tired mountain pony, while a hot, hungry hound whined about, trying to tell the whole story in his wonderful dog fashion; but, when they did hear the real story from Maurice, there was a momentary silence, then a rough old miner fairly shouted, "Well, by the Great Horn Spoon, he's old Maurice Delorme's son all right!"
I don't believe you want to go." Lydia turned with a start. "But of course I want to go! It's the greatest chance. I shall learn a heap of things." Susan nodded. "All the same you don't seem a bit keen." Lydia fidgeted. "Well, you see, I admire Mr. Delorme's work as much as ever. But " "You don't like Mr. Delorme?
In the dedication of Philibert Delorme's "Traite d'Architecture" he expressed himself thus with regard to the Tuileries: "Madame, I see from day to day with an increasing pleasure the interest that your Majesty takes in architecture.
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