She ignored the tribute; she knew that already; it was the thesis which interested her.
"It bores me—winning, I mean. Golf, for the time being, is a delight."
He gave her a pirate glance, as though to search her soul, and uttered one of his bold sallies:
"That is, your doll is stuffed with——"
She checked him, shaking her head. "Oh, no. That is, I think not. I have never cut her open. I had in mind something quite different." Her dainty face grew pensive as she sought the exact phrase to interpret her psychology. "I have never had to struggle for anything. It has always come to me."
"Exactly." His note of emphasis reminded her that her words were, after all, merely an indirect echo of his diagnosis. "But your time is sure to come," he asserted confidently.
The smile of incredulity which curved her lips betrayed entertainment also. "In what field?" she inquired.
Spencer shrugged his shoulders. "I am a student of character, not a soothsayer."
"And then?" she queried.
"You will be like the rest of us—only more so. You could not bear to lose at any cost."