To add to her troubles, Lucius Ahenobarbus was ever thrusting in his attentions at every party and at the theatre; and her uncle openly favoured his suit.

“I wish you would be more friendly to him,” remarked Lentulus on one occasion.  “I should be glad to have a closer tie between his family and ours.”

“Uncle,” said Cornelia, much distressed, “I do not think I understand what you mean.”

“Well,” chuckled Lentulus, moving away, “think it over until you do understand.”

Cornelia had been reading in the library when this conversation took place.  There was to be another party that evening at the house of Marcus Favonius, a prominent anti-Caesarian, and since it was growing late in the afternoon, it was time to dress.  Cornelia went into her own room, and was summoning her maids, when a young lady of about her own age, who affected to be on terms of considerable intimacy, was announced—­Herennia, a daughter of a certain rich old eques, Caius Pontius, who had kept out of politics and hoarded money, which his daughter was doing her best to spend.

Herennia was already dressed for the party.  Her brown hair had been piled up in an enormous mass on her head, eked out by false tresses and puffings, and the whole plentifully powdered with gold dust.  She wore a prodigious number of gaudily set rings; her neck and ears and girdle were ablaze with gold and jewels.  So far from aiming, as do modern ladies, to reduce the waist to the slenderest possible proportions, Herennia, who was actually quite thin, had carefully padded out her form to proper dimensions, and showed this fact by her constrained motions.  She was rouged and painted, and around her floated an incense of a thousand and one rare perfumes.  Her amethystine tunic and palla were of pure silk—­then literally worth its weight in gold—­and embroidered with an elaborate pattern in which pearls and other gems played a conspicuous part.  For all this display of extravagance, Herennia was of only very mediocre beauty; and it was on this account that she was always glad to make uncomfortable flings at her “dear friend” Cornelia, whenever possible.

Herennia seated herself on a divan, and proceeded to plunge into all the flying gossip of the day.  Incidentally she managed to hint that Servius Maccus, her devoted admirer, had told her that the night before Lucius Ahenobarbus and some of his friends had attacked and insulted a lady on her way back from a late dinner.[87]

  [87] A common diversion for “young men of spirit.”

“The outrageous scapegrace!” cried Cornelia, while her maids hurried along a toilet which, if not as elaborate as Herennia’s, took some little time.  “I imagined he might do such things!  I always detested him!”

“Then you are not so very fond of Lucius Ahenobarbus,” said Herennia, raising her carefully painted eyebrows, as if in astonishment.  “I am really a little surprised.”