“Think so? I cannot endure that sort of mouth. It looks so self-complacent, as if it knew its own beauty—the curves are too immovable. I like a mouth that trembles more.”
“For my part, I think her odious,” said a dowager. “It is wonderful what unpleasant girls get into vogue. Who are these Langens? Does anybody know them?”
“They are quite comme il faut. I have dined with them several times at the Russie. The baroness is English. Miss Harleth calls her cousin. The girl herself is thoroughly well-bred, and as clever as possible.”
“Dear me! and the baron?”.
“A very good furniture picture.”
“Your baroness is always at the roulette-table,” said Mackworth. “I fancy she has taught the girl to gamble.”
“Oh, the old woman plays a very sober game; drops a ten-franc piece here and there. The girl is more headlong. But it is only a freak.”
“I hear she has lost all her winnings to-day. Are they rich? Who knows?”
“Ah, who knows? Who knows that about anybody?” said Mr. Vandernoodt, moving off to join the Langens.
The remark that Gwendolen wound her neck about more than usual this evening was true. But it was not that she might carry out the serpent idea more completely: it was that she watched for any chance of seeing Deronda, so that she might inquire about this stranger, under whose measuring gaze she was still wincing. At last her opportunity came.