United States or Caribbean Netherlands ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"Seen Diane's Irish beauty yet, Ned?" "Yes," a man answered. The woman laughed softly. "Mrs. Mallory came up on the same boat with her." The inflection suggested that the words were meant not to tell a fact, but some less obvious inference. "Oh, you women!" the man commented good-naturedly. "She's wonderfully pretty, and of course Diane will make the most of her. But Mrs.
Pechaud began to flutter around her, but after a little she rose, and coming to the window looked straight out at me. My spider had by this time vanished into the petals of a half-open rose, and turning I met Diane's look, and lifted my hat in formal greeting, remaining, however, where I was, as I was determined to keep the position she had assigned to me. "Monsieur Broussel!" "Mademoiselle!"
There had been nothing unusual about the day, except that she had seen little of Diane, while George had remained shut up in his room, writing letters and arranging or destroying papers. There had been nothing out of the common in either of them not even the frown of care on George's forehead, or the excited light in Diane's eyes as they drove away in the evening, to dine at the Spanish Embassy.
It was impossible for her to wait upon him in his illness and hold any repugnance toward this big, elemental man. The thing he had done might be wrong, but the very openness and frankness of his relation to Meteetse redeemed it from shame. He was neither a profligate nor a squawman. This was Diane's point of view, and in time it became to a certain extent that of Sheba.
He took Diane's last letter from its hiding-place, and sitting down to his desk he made two copies of it, prefacing each with a brief explanation of how the statement had come into his hands. It was a laborious task, and it kept him busy for two hours. At nine o'clock he went out to dinner, and on the way to the Cafe Royal he dropped two bulky letters into a street-box.
Are you now surprised to find me thoughtful?" This was the last drop; poor d'Arthez could bear no more. He fell upon his knees, and laid his head on Diane's hand, weeping soft tears such as the angels shed, if angels weep.
The word appealed to Diane's memory and imagination alike. It came to her from her remotest childhood, when she could remember hearing it applied to her grandfather, the old Comte de la Ferronaise. After that she could recollect leaving the great château in which she was born, and living with her parents, first in one European capital, and then in another.
He rose restlessly, smiling down at her with a lazy expression of deference in his eyes. "Wonderful, beautiful lady of fire and ebony!" he said gently, with a bewildering change of mood which brought the vivid color to Diane's dark cheek. "There's the wild, sweet wine of the forest in your very blood! And it's always calling!" "Yes," nodded Diane wistfully, "it's always calling. How did you know?"
He would cheerfully have ridden on to any terror ever conceived by the ruthless Jake. Diane's welfare Diane's happiness; it was the key-note of his life. He had watched. He knew. Tresler was willing enough to marry her, and she he chuckled joyfully to himself. "Jake ain't a dorg's chance a yaller dorg's chance. When the 'tenderfoot' gits good an' goin' he'll choke the life out o' Master Jake.
And Philip flung the empty can into the pool whence a frog leaped with a frightened croak. "Philip!" "Mademoiselle!" said Philip pleasantly. Darkly lovely, Diane's eyes met his with a glance of indignant reproach. Somehow her lips were like a scarlet wound in the gypsy brown skin and her cheeks were hot with color.
Word Of The Day