As for the music, "Go right ahead," said Mr.Spillikins; "I'm not musical, but I don't mind music a bit." In the daytime they played tennis.

There was a court at one end of the lawn beneath the trees, all chequered with sunlight and mingled shadow; very beautiful, Norah thought, though Mr.Spillikins explained that the spotted light put him off his game.

In fact, it was owing entirely to this bad light that Mr.Spillikins's fast drives, wonderful though they were, somehow never got inside the service court.
Norah, of course, thought Mr.Spillikins a wonderful player.

She was glad--in fact, it suited them both--when he beat her six to nothing.
She didn't know and didn't care that there was no one else in the world that Mr.Spillikins could beat like that.

Once he even said to her.
"By Gad! you don't play half a bad game, you know.