“I am just going to see Cassandra now; will you go with me?” asked the mistress.
A little later, when they were driving in the direction of the stables, she turned to him and said: “I was awfully sorry it had been decided to start Cassandra, when my coachman told me that you had an entry in the race. Did she in any way hinder your chances for success?”
“In no way whatever, I can assure you.”
“Did you lose very heavily on Empress?”
“Oh, nothing that I could say would so much exceed my usual losses of late.”
“Have you ever thought,” she asked, “of the flower that fell from the bier which you persisted in fastening to the lapel of your coat?”
“Am I to be forever doomed, then, for that one perverse act?” he exclaimed.
“Oh, I don’t know. I believe, though, there is an old adage which they say affords some consolation to those who recount their losses.”
“And, pray, what is the adage?”
“Let me see—I think it runs something like this: ‘Unlucky in sport, lucky in l—’”