All at once they observed Vincent, who was coming up the steps of the foyer, and approaching them free and unconcerned, as though he had seen his cousins but yesterday.
“Hallo, Vincent, have you dropped from the clouds again?” exclaimed Eline.
“Hallo, Eline; hallo Betsy! charmed to see you once more. Miss van Bergh and Woude, I think?” and he shook hands with them.
“I admire your memory; I had forgotten you,” answered Emilie.
Betsy introduced them: “Mr. de Woude van Bergh, Mr. Vere.”
“Very pleased. And how are you?”
“A little astonished,” laughed Eline. “I dare say you are off again to-morrow, aren’t you? To Constantinople, or St. Petersburg, or somewhere, I suppose.”
He looked at her, with a smile in his pale blue eyes, like faded china, behind their pince-nez. His features were handsome and regular, rather too handsome for a man, with their finely-chiselled Grecian nose, the small mouth, about which there generally lurked somewhat between a sneer and an audacious smile, lightly shaded by the thin, fair moustache; but the charm of the handsome face was [[44]]completely spoilt by the unhealthy yellowish tint, and the expression of lassitude that was suffused over it. Of slender form and delicate proportions, he looked tasteful in his dark, plain clothes, whilst none could fail to note the smallness of his feet, and the finely-shaped hand, with its slender, white fingers, the hand of an artist, and which reminded Eline very much of her dead father. He sat down beside them, and in a languid voice told Eline that he had arrived at the Hague the previous day, on a business matter. His last employment had been at Malaga, in a wine business; before that he had been engaged in an insurance office in Brussels; previous to that he had for some time been a partner in a carpet manufactory in Smyrna, but the firm failed. Nothing would do. Now he was tired of all that rushing about; he had given proof enough of energy and perseverance, but fate was against him; whatever his hands touched seemed to bring him ill-luck. He expected, however, to obtain a situation in a chemical manufactory in Java, but he must first have some more information. To-morrow morning he hoped to call on van Raat, whom he wanted to see. Upon this Betsy asked whether he was coming to coffee, as van Raat was never at home in the morning, only in the afternoon. He gladly accepted the invitation, and then commenced talking about the opera.
“Fabrice? oh, that is the baritone, is it not? Yes; a nice voice, but an ugly, fat customer.”
“Do you think so? No; I think he shows off very well on the stage,” observed Emilie.