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Public admiration only disconcerted her, and made her pout, and the unceremonious but friendly compliments of Phil's brethren in art were her special grievance. "They stare at me, and stare at me, and stare at me," she complained, pettishly, to Dolly, "and some of them say things to me. I wish they would attend to their pictures and leave me alone."
She lowered her eyes for a moment, as though to conceal the sudden soft flash. "An English spy," she repeated. "My rival in espionage." "You have no rival, Nita," he replied, "and she is in the opposite camp." Her two red lips were distorted into a pout. "Is it over, my task?" she asked. "I am weary of Paris. I love it over here better.
How interested we are when a discovery is made of some rare old painting, of which the subject is a perfectly beautiful woman! It bears no name perhaps no date but the face that smiles at us is exquisite the lips yet pout for kisses the eyes brim over, with love! And we admire it tenderly and reverently we mark it 'Portrait of a lady, and give it an honoured place among our art collections.
"Go immediately to your room, and tell mammy to put you to bed." Elsie silently obeyed, and Lucy, casting an indignant glance at Mr. Dinsmore, was about to follow her, when he said, "I wish her to go alone, if you please, Miss Lucy;" and with a frown and a pout the little girl walked into the drawing-room and seated herself on the sofa beside her mamma. Mr.
Felix could not check a sort of groan or grunt; and Angela, whose pertness was defensive, quailed a little. She had driven him out of the due sequence of his discourse, but he resumed it. 'Angel, I must tell you; if anybody asks you to break rules by giving letters you must not' Angela kicked pebbles about. 'Have you ever been asked to do so? She hung her head, and a pout came over her face.
"What's your name?" she said. "You've got eyes like my sister's. Are you coming to the Nunnery?" "Yes," replied Clover, smiling back. "My name is Clover, Clover Carr." "What a dear little name! It sounds just as you look!" "So does your name, Rose Red," said Clover, shyly. "It's a ridiculous name," protested Rose Red, trying to pout. Just then the stage stopped. "Why?
All of the Bobbsey twins Nan, Bert, Flossie and Freddie looked so serious over the prospect of losing Snap that Mr. Bobbsey had to laugh. He just couldn't help it. "Well, I don't see anything to make fun over," said Nan, with a little pout. "Why, you all act as though you had lost your best friend or were going to." "Well, Snap is one of our best friends, aren't you Snap?" said Freddie.
Sylvia, standing opposite, not looking at Hester, but gazing at the ribbons in the shop window, as if hardly conscious that any one awaited the expression of her wishes, was a great contrast; ready to smile or to pout, or to show her feelings in any way, with a character as undeveloped as a child's, affectionate, wilful, naughty, tiresome, charming, anything, in fact, at present that the chances of an hour called out.
"Are we, darling?" said her companion. "Probably if anyone happened to see us just now," sliding his arm round her waist and kissing her, "they would be inclined to think so. Nay, you need not pout, it is entirely your own fault; the fact is, that you looked so pretty the temptation was simply irresistible." "Was it?" she retorted.
I am dreaming! can this be? no, it is not! but yes! why, no! etc. Gavroche balanced on his heels, clenched both fists in his pockets, moved his neck around like a bird, expended in a gigantic pout all the sagacity of his lower lip. He was astounded, uncertain, incredulous, convinced, dazzled.
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