For a moment she was miraculously real before him, every line and colour of her.

He saw the moonlight shimmering in the chiffon of her skirts brightest on her crossed knee and the tip of her slipper; saw the blue curve of the characteristic shadow behind her, as she leaned back against the white step; saw the watery twinkling of sequins in the gauze wrap over her white shoulders as she moved, and the faint, symmetrical lights in her black hair--and not one alluring, exasperating twentieth-of-an-inch of her laughing profile was spared him as she seemed to turn to the infernal Kinney-- "Riffraff!" And George began furiously to pace the stone floor.
"Riffraff!" By this hard term--a favourite with him since childhood's scornful hour--he meant to indicate, not Lucy, but the young gentlemen who, in his vision, surrounded her.

"Riffraff!" he said again, aloud, and again: "Riffraff!" At that moment, as it happened, Lucy was playing chess with her father; and her heart, though not remorseful, was as heavy as George could have wished.

But she did not let Eugene see that she was troubled, and he was pleased when he won three games of her.

Usually she beat him..