“Mr. Vandernoodt, you know everybody,” said Gwendolen, not too eagerly, rather with a certain languor of utterance which she sometimes gave to her clear soprano. “Who is that near the door?”
“There are half a dozen near the door. Do you mean that old Adonis in the George the Fourth wig?”
“No, no; the dark-haired young man on the right with the dreadful expression.”
“Dreadful, do you call it? I think he is an uncommonly fine fellow.”
“But who is he?”
“He is lately come to our hotel with Sir Hugo Mallinger.”
“Sir Hugo Mallinger?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“No.” (Gwendolen colored slightly.) “He has a place near us, but he never comes to it. What did you say was the name of that gentleman near the door?”
“Deronda—Mr. Deronda.”