‘Another man’s?’
‘No.’
‘What! an obdurate maiden?’
Ixion shook his head.
‘It must be a widow, then,’ continued Cupid. ‘Who ever heard before of such a piece of work about a widow!’
‘Have pity upon me, dread Cupid!’ exclaimed the King of Thessaly, rising suddenly from the ground, and falling on his knee before the God. ‘Thou art the universal friend of man, and all nations alike throw their incense on thy altars. Thy divine discrimination has not deceived thee. I am in love; desperately, madly, fatally enamoured. The object of my passion is neither my own wife nor another man’s. In spite of all they have said and sworn, I am a moral member of society. She is neither a maid nor a widow. She is———’
‘What? what?’ exclaimed the impatient deity.
‘A Goddess!’ replied the King.
‘Wheugh!’ whistled Cupid. ‘What! has my mischievous mother been indulging you with an innocent flirtation?’
‘Yes; but it produced no effect upon me.’