She was more than pretty--she was lovely, and above all, alive--vividly
alive. There was a bright colour on her cheek, and a soft light shining
in her eyes.
The row of pearls which had occasioned the only serious difference which
had ever arisen between them, rose and fell softly on the bosom of her
black lace dress.
Chester also gradually became aware that his beautiful friend and client
formed a centre of attraction to those standing round the gambling-table.
Both the men and the women stared at her, some enviously, but more with
kindly admiration, for beauty is sure of its tribute in any French
audience, and Sylvia Bailey to-night looked radiantly lovely--lovely and
yet surely unhappy and ill-at-ease.
Well might she look both in such a place and among such a crew! So the
English lawyer angrily told himself.
Now and again she turned and spoke in an eager, intimate fashion to a man
sitting next her on her left. This man, oddly enough, was not playing.
Sylvia Bailey's companion was obviously a Frenchman, or so Chester felt
sure, for now he found himself concentrating his attention on Mrs.
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