Summary

Portrait of Max Pemberton Max Pemberton A Gentleman's Gentleman — Chapter 11 (1896)

White as his face had been in the morning, the color of it in the afternoon was like a bit of plaster of Paris. And what was more than this was the way he walked, feeling his road with his hands, like a blind man, and staring before him as though he was frightened that every step he took might land him on nothing.
Never have I seen the muscles of a man's mouth twitch so much, or a man's fingers look so like claws.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Max Pemberton Max Pemberton A Gentleman's Gentleman — Chapter 11 (1896)

A more honorable gentleman doesn't breathe in Paris, and if it wasn't for the state you are in, young man, I'd let you know it too."
This silenced him a bit. He stood rocking on his heels for a minute or more, and then, muttering something between his teeth which I could not make out, he continued his march up the stairs. A quarter of an hour later, Sir Nicolas himself drove up with the young American, and he hadn't been in the hotel two minutes before I'd told him what had passed and what I'd seen. Strange to say, he took it as calm as a man hearing of the weather.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Max Pemberton Max Pemberton A Gentleman's Gentleman — Chapter 11 (1896)

The name down in the visitors' book was "Dora Grey of Boston," and just above it, I saw written, "Michel Grey, artist." But I didn't mark the man until the following morning, though Sir Nicolas, who had gone down into the garden that night, the first time for many weeks, was as full of the pair of them as he could be.
"Hildebrand," says he, "there's an American couple below which is worth the knowing. She's an artist from Boston, and she's come to the schools. It's the Greys, the railway people, they are; and rolling in the money.
Source: Wikisource

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