This man, to whom she kept turning and speaking in a low, earnest tone, was slim and fair, and what could be seen of his evening clothes fitted scrupulously well.

The Englishman, looking at him with alien, jealous eyes, decided within himself that the Frenchman with whom Sylvia seemed to be on such friendly terms, was a foppish-looking fellow, not at all the sort of man she ought to have "picked up" on her travels.
Suddenly Sylvia raised her head, throwing it back with a graceful gesture, and Chester's eyes travelled on to the person who was standing just behind her, and to whom she had now begun speaking with smiling animation.
This was a woman--short, stout, and swarthy--dressed in a bright purple gown, and wearing a pale blue bonnet which was singularly unbecoming to her red, massive face.

Chester rather wondered that such an odd, and yes--such a respectable-looking person could be a member of this gambling club.

She reminded him of the stout old housekeeper in a big English country house near Market Dalling.
Sylvia seemed also to include in her talk a man who was standing next the fat woman.

He was tall and lanky, absurdly and unsuitably dressed, to the English onlooker, in a white alpaca suit and a shabby Panama hat.