“No. You must tell me about it. Sorry, Mr. Hare, I am stopping the game.”
Spencer continued to have amazing good fortune, and he played with skill, but without any more fireworks. At the close of the sitting the vicar said cheerfully:
“You are not a ladies’ man, Mr. Spencer. You know the old proverb,—lucky at cards, unlucky in love? But let me hope that it does not apply in your case.”
“Talking about a ladies’ man, who is the girl your friend Bower dined with?” asked Holt. “She has been in the hotel several days; but she didn’t seem to be acquainted with anybody in particular until he blew in this afternoon.”
“She is a Miss Helen Wynton,” said the vicar. “I like her very much from what little I have seen of her. She attended both services on Sunday, and I happen to be aware of the fact that she was at mass in the Roman church earlier. I wanted her to play the harmonium next Sunday; but she declined, and gave me her reasons too.”
“May I ask what they were?” inquired Spencer.
“Well, speaking in confidence, they were grievously true. Some miserable pandering to Mrs. Grundy has set the other women against her; so she declined to thrust herself into prominence. I tried to talk her out of it, but failed.”
“Who is Mrs. Grundy, anyhow?” growled Holt.
The others laughed.