Bailey's neighbour rather than on her. This man, to whom she kept turning
and speaking in a low, earnest tone, was slim and fair, and what could be
seen of his evening clothes fitted scrupulously well. The Englishman,
looking at him with alien, jealous eyes, decided within himself that the
Frenchman with whom Sylvia seemed to be on such friendly terms, was a
foppish-looking fellow, not at all the sort of man she ought to have
"picked up" on her travels.
Suddenly Sylvia raised her head, throwing it back with a graceful
gesture, and Chester's eyes travelled on to the person who was standing
just behind her, and to whom she had now begun speaking with smiling
animation.
This was a woman--short, stout, and swarthy--dressed in a bright purple
gown, and wearing a pale blue bonnet which was singularly unbecoming to
her red, massive face. Chester rather wondered that such an odd, and
yes--such a respectable-looking person could be a member of this gambling
club. She reminded him of the stout old housekeeper in a big English
country house near Market Dalling.
Sylvia seemed also to include in her talk a man who was standing next the
fat woman.
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