s
adoration, and all his indulgence, and the infinite solicitude of his
affectionate heart, until the tears trickled down her beautiful cheeks,
and she marvelled she ever could have quitted the arms of her lover.

'Your Majesty,' observed Manto, who had been whispering to Tiresias,
'feels, perhaps, a little wearied?'

'By no means, my kind Manto,' replied Proserpine, starting from her
reverie. 'But the truth is, my spirits are unequal; and though I
really cannot well fix upon the cause of their present depression, I am
apparently not free from the contagion of the surrounding gloom.'

'It is the evening air,' said Tiresias. 'Your Majesty had perhaps better
re-enter the pavilion of the yacht. As for myself, I never venture about
after sunset. One grows romantic. Night was evidently made for in-door
nature. I propose a rubber.'

To this popular suggestion Proserpine was pleased to accede, and herself
and Tiresias, Manto and the captain of the yacht, were soon engaged at
the proposed amusement.

Tiresias loved a rubber. It was true he was blind, but then, being a
prophet, that did not signify. Tiresias, I say, loved a rubber, and
was a first-rate player, though, perhaps, given a little too much to
_finesse_. Indeed, he so much enjoyed taking in his fellow-creatures,
that he sometimes could not resist deceiving his own partner. Whist is
a game which requires no ordinary combination of qualities; at the same
time, memory and invention, a daring fancy, and a cool head. To a mind
like that of Tiresias, a pack of cards was full of human nature. A
rubber was a microcosm; and he ruffed his adversary's king, or brought
in a long suit of his own with as much dexterity and as much enjoyment
as, in the real business of existence, he dethroned a monarch, or
introduced a dynasty.

'Will your Majesty be pleased to draw your card?' requested the sage.
'If I might venture to offer your Majesty a hint, I would dare to
recommend your Majesty not to play before your turn. My friends are
fond of ascribing my success in my various missions to the possession of
peculiar qualities. No such thing: I owe everything to the simple habit
of always waiting till it is my turn to speak. And believe me, that he
who plays before his turn at whist, commits as great a blunder as he who
speaks before his turn during a negotiation.'

'The trick, and two by honours,' said Proserpine. 'Pray, my dear
Tiresias, you who are such a fine player, how came you