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The only two other people who had noticed her particularly were those old acquaintances, Mr. Purcey and Mr. Stone. Mr. Purcey had thought, 'Rather a good-lookin' girl, and his eyes strayed somewhat continually in her direction. There was something piquant and, as it were, unlawfully enticing to him in the fact that she was a real artist's model. Mr. Stone's way of noticing her had been different.
Neither hesitation because of the defenceless position of the girl, nor hesitation because of his own future with her, would have troubled Mr. Purcey. He good man in his straightforward way, would have only thought about the present not, indeed, intending to have a future with a young person of that class. Consideration for a wife who had withdrawn from the society of Mr.
There he is, standing just behind your sister." Cecilia by a nervous gesture indicated that she recognized the personality alluded to. "Oh, yes," she said; "Mr. Purcey. I don't know why he comes to see us." "I think he's so delicious!" said Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace dreamily.
The lips were still always a trifle parted, and she still seemed to be looking out for what was coming, like a little Madonna, or Venus, in a Botticelli picture. This look of hers, coupled with the matter-of-factness of her speech, gave its flavour to her personality.... On Christmas Day the picture was on view to Mr. Purcey, who had chanced to "give his car a run," and to other connoisseurs.
Tallents Smallpeace, prone to laughter, bubbled. "Oh, that is such a delicious expression, Mr. Purcey! I almost think we ought to use it in our Report. Thank you!" Mr. Purcey bowed. "Not at all!" he said. Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace turned again to Stephen. "We have our trained inquirers. That is the advantage of Societies such as ours; so that we don't personally have the unpleasantness.
Cecilia, while engaging them to right and left in her half-sympathetic, faintly mocking way as if doubting whether they really wanted to see her or she them heard a word of fear. "Mr. Purcey." 'Oh Heaven! she thought. Mr. Purcey, whose A.i. Damyer could be heard outside, advanced in his direct and simple way. "I thought I'd give my car a run," he said. "How's your sister?" And seeing Mrs.
Some cases do baffle everybody. It's such very delicate work." "You sometimes find you let in a rotter?" said Mr. Purcey, "or, I should say, a rotter lets you in! Ha, ha!" Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace's eyes flew deliciously down his figure. "Not often," she said; and turning rather markedly once more to Stephen: "Have you any special case that you are interested in, Mr. Dallison?"
Purcey watching his new friend askance, and directing the march to where he had ordered his chauffeur to await him. "You are very fond of birds, I suppose," he said cautiously. "The birds are our brothers." The answer was of a nature to determine Mr. Purcey in his diagnosis of the case. "I've got my car here," he said. "Let me give you a lift home."
"They make the living God will let them, I suppose, as other people do." Mr. Purcey gave him a sharp look. It was almost as if Dallison had meant to snub him. "Oh, exactly! I should think this girl would have no difficulty." And suddenly he saw a curious change come over "that writing fellow," as he always afterwards described Hilary.
Due to some too violent cross of blood, to an environment too unsuited, to what not it was branded on her. Those who knew Bianca Dallison better than Mr. Purcey were but too well aware of this fugitive, proud spirit permeating one whose beauty would otherwise have passed unquestioned.
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