“I’m glad. Have you never met Quaerts before?”
“Really? He comes here so often.”
Cecile looked through the open folding-doors at the card-table. Two candles stood upon it. Mrs. Hoze’s pink face was lit up clearly, with its smooth and stately features; her hair gleamed silver-grey. Quaerts sat opposite her: Cecile noticed the round, vanishing silhouette of his head, the hair cut very close, thick and black above the glittering white streak of his collar. His arms made little movements as he threw down a card or gathered up a trick. His person had something about it of great power, something energetic and robust, something of every-day life, which Cecile disliked.
“Are the girls fond of cards?”
“Suzette is, Anna not so very: she’s not so brisk.”
Cecile saw that Anna sat behind her father, looking on with eyes which did not understand.
“Do you take them out much nowadays?” Cecile asked next.
“Yes, I have to. Suzette likes going out, but not Anna. Suzette will be a pretty girl, don’t you think?”
“Suzette’s an awful flirt!” said Jules. “At our last dinner-party....”