The victor flashed a saucy glance at her. "I like to win. It's more fun."
"Yes, it's more fun, but——"
"But what?"
"I was thinking that it's no fun for the loser."
"That's his lookout," came the swift retort. "Nobody makes him play."
Moya did not answer. She was thinking how Joyce charged the batteries of men's emotions by the slow look of her deep eyes, by the languorous turn of her head, by the enthralment of her grace.
"I wouldn't have your conscience for worlds, Moya. I don't want to be so dreadfully proper until I'm old and ugly," Joyce continued, pouting.
"Lady Jim is always complaining because I'm not proper enough," laughed Moya. "She's forever holding you up to me as an example."
"So I am. Of course I flirt. I always shall. But I'll not come a cropper. I'll never let my flirtations interfere with business. Lady Jim knows that."
Moya looked straight at her. "Were you ever in love in your life?"