In the foreground stood the two brothers, Harry, tall, thin, solemn, and perhaps rather unprepossessing but not at all behind the rest of the family in the warmth of his invitation to the departing guests to come again.
Denver, the younger, broad-shouldered, deep-voiced, the embodiment of good humor, perhaps rather addicted to his national vice of boastfulness, but on the whole too unaffected and straightforward in manner to be other than pleasing.
Mrs. Van Santen, the picture of gentle good nature and simplicity, was just behind her sons, with a hand on the shoulder of the younger, who stood on the step below her. Her gentle voice could be heard but faintly as she wished her guests good-bye; but the gracious, homely figure was good to look upon, forming as it did a strong amusing contrast to the elegance of her daughters, and to the luxury of the house in which they lived.
The daughters were, perhaps, the figures that remained the longest in the minds of the departing guests. After the manner of young American women, they were so amusing, so vivacious, and withal so quiet in their manners, making their mark rather by quickness of intellect than by loudness of voice, that it was impossible to think of them without recalling the pleasure their accomplishments and graces had given.
Delia, the elder, was the perfection of grace, and wore her plainly made but well-chosen clothes with a distinction which a princess might have envied. Without being very handsome, she was so lively, so full of repartee and resource in argument, and so active and alert in passing from group to group among her mother’s guests, assuring herself that all were enjoying themselves, and that they were in congenial society, that she might have been called the leading spirit of the family, and was undoubtedly the pivot on which their social scheme turned.
She it was who knew when to take a guest, sore over his losses at poker, into the garden to enjoy conversation under the trees in the soothing society of the old lady, or into the music-room to be coaxed back into good humor by the sweet singing of her sister Cora.
As for Cora, her musical gifts never failed to evoke the remark that it was a pity she was not a professional singer, for such rare sweetness of voice as she possessed ought to have been given to a wider circle than any amateur can appeal to.
But when anyone said this, the brothers would look rather offended, and would say shortly that it might have been all very well for Cora if she had been poor, to earn her living on the concert platform, but that they could never think of allowing their sister, who had and would always have, every luxury she could wish for provided for her, to appear in public. If her voice was charming, let her use it for the pleasure of her friends.
Personally, then, Gerard had no fault to find with any of the family. He might like some members of it better than the others, he might disapprove of the tastes and habits which seemed to him to indicate both want of consideration for their visitors and lack of those qualities which make men lifelong friends. To spend so many hours at cards was revolting to the young Englishman, and his principles and prejudices alike made the spending of Sunday in this manner distasteful to him.
But this alone would have roused in him no suspicion that there was anything wrong about these hospitable strangers. Many an English household that he knew of spent Sunday in much the same way, and incurred no suspicion of there being anything worse than a tendency to dissipation on the part of its members.