“Lucius,” said Domitius, sternly, “you are a graceless spendthrift.  Of course you must have the sport which all young blood needs.  But your extravagance goes beyond all bounds.  I call myself a rich man, but to leave you half my fortune, dividing with your older brother Cnaeus, who is a far steadier and saner man than you, would be to assure myself that Greek parasites and low women would riot through that part of my estate in a twelvemonth.  You must reform, Lucius; you must reform.”

This was getting extremely disagreeable in spite of his expectations, and the young man yawned a second time, then answered:—­

“Well, I presume Uncle Cato has told you all kinds of stories; but they aren’t at all true.  I really never had a great deal of money.”

“Lucius,” went on his father, “you are grown to manhood.  It is time that you steadied in life.  I have let you live by yourself too long.  You are even too indolent to engage in politics, or to go into the army.  I have come to a determination.  You must marry the woman I have selected for you.”

Ahenobarbus pricked up his ears.  As a matter of fact, he had surmised what was coming, but he had no intention of admitting anything prematurely.

“Really, father,” he said, “I hope you won’t use your legal right and force a wife on me.  I have no desire to tie myself up to a decent married life.”

“I hardly think,” said Domitius, smiling, “that you will resist my wishes long.  I have seen Lentulus Crus the consul-elect, and he and I agree that since your mother’s distant kinsman Quintus Drusus of Praeneste is an unsuitable husband for Cornelia, Lentulus’s niece, on account of his very dangerous political tendencies, no happier alliance could bind our families together than a marriage between Cornelia and yourself.”

Lucius yawned a third time and fell back on the couch.

“It’s true,” he ventured, “I have cared a good deal for Cornelia; and I’ve thrown over that little Greek Clyte and all the others for her; but then, to make a girl your sweetheart and to make her your wife are two very different things. Vina Opimia is best; but because one drinks a cyathus[97] of that, why should he forego a good nil of Thasian or Caecuban?  If I could have but one choice, give me plenty of the good, and I’ll give up my few drops of the best.”

  [97] About one-twelfth pint.

“Come, come,” said Domitius, a little impatiently, “you must positively reform.  Besides, while appearances must be kept up, there is no need for leading the life of a Stoic.  You won’t find Cornelia a hard companion.  You have your pleasures and she hers, and you will live harmoniously enough and not the least scandal.”