There was, perhaps, something of the guile of the serpent joined to her dove-like softness.

She asked questions and listened to answers--not that in her present state of mind she could bring herself to take a deep interest in the affairs of Madame Faragon's hotel, but because it suited her that there should be some subject of easy conversation between her and George.

It was absolutely necessary now that George should be nothing more to her than a cousin and an acquaintance; but it was well that he should be that and not an enemy.

It would be well too that he should know, that he should think that he knew, that she was disturbed by no remembrance of those words which had once passed between them.

At last she trusted herself to a remark which perhaps she would not have made had the serpent's guile been more perfect of its kind.
'Surely you must get a wife, George, as soon as the house is your own.' 'Of course he will get a wife,' said the father.
'I hope he will get a good one,' said Madame Voss after a short pause--which, however, had been long enough to make her feel it necessary to say something.
George said never a word, but lifted his glass and finished his wine.