"My love, you have played that card wrong--very wrong."
"Did I, my dear?" replied Mrs. L. smiling languidly, and looking in
his face more as if she was admiring the elegant turn of his forehead,
and the spirited expression of his dark eye, than as if she minded
what he was saying--"'tis indeed--very."
"'Tis what?"
"Oh! were you not speaking of something? I beg pardon, love--I thought
you spoke."
"And so I did, my dear. I told you that card was played most
abominably."
"I dare say, my love;--[still gazing in his eyes and smiling]--I know
I'm very stupid,"--[playing a card.]
"Well, you have taken a curious way to mend matters--that last play
was a thousand degrees worse than the other."
"I dare say, my love,--[looking in his face, and continuing to drawl
and simper in the manner which we might imagine of Shakspeare's little
shepherdess--
"'Sweet youth chide on--I had rather hear thee chide
Than others woo--'"]
"But tell me, love, when I play wrong," [playing again without taking
her eyes from his, even to look at her card.]
"I had much better leave you to yourself," said L.
"'_You will be compelled to take refuge in fits of sullenness_,'"
muttered I, quoting from my former prophecy.
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