"Hasn't she told you?"
"No. She says nothing about herself—I mean about herself before she came here."
"What's past is past. Dark or fair?—not her past, but her complexion?"
"Fair."
"Not one of those pink and white girls picked out in blue and gold, one sees about so much?"
"As different from them as moonlight from footlights. If ever you went into the Casino, you couldn't have helped having her pointed out to you. She's always there, and she's so awfully pretty and dresses so—so richly, and wins such a lot that everybody stares and talks. She's the sensation of the place."
"But I never do go into the Casino, of course—that is, not into the Rooms. I go to the Thursday Classical Concerts, and even that St. George shakes his head over, as it's inside the fatal door. You see he's here to preach against gambling, among other things."
"I don't suppose the gamblers go to hear his sermons?"
"Oh, yes, they do. A good many of them feel that if they attend church and put money in the plate, and don't play on Sunday, the rest's all right. They can keep up a bowing acquaintance with religion that way, anyhow. But I'll go and call on your mystery. What's her name?"
"Miss Grant."