The Queen Of Hearts

How comes it, Flora, that, whenever we     Play cards together, you invariably,         However the pack parts,         Still hold the Queen of Hearts?     I've scanned you with a scrutinizing gaze,     Resolved to fathom these your secret ways:         But, sift them as I will,         Your ways are secret still.     I cut and shuffle; shuffle, cut, again;     But all my cutting, shuffling, proves in vain:         Vain hope, vain forethought too;         The Queen still falls to you.     I dropped her once, prepense; but, ere the deal     Was dealt, your instinct seemed her loss to feel:         'There should be one card more,'         You said, and searched the floor.     I cheated once; I made a private notch     In Heart-Queen's back, and kept a lynx-eyed watch;         Yet such another back         Deceived me in the pack:     The Queen of Clubs assumed by arts unknown     An imitative dint that seemed my own;         This notch, not of my doing,         Misled me to my ruin.     It baffles me to puzzle out the clue,     Which must be skill, or craft, or luck in you:         Unless, indeed, it be         Natural affinity.