“Such attachments do not last,” she argued hopefully.  “Such attachments make unfaithful husbands.  They are monotonous and wearisome.  She is but a mirror giving back the blaze of the sun, one-surfaced and blinding.  It is the many lights of the diamond that make it charming.”

She had arrived at no definite resolution when she met Laodice in the hall that led to the quarters of the artists, as the Greek went that way for her day’s observation of their work.

“What an unrefreshed face!” the Greek said softly, as the light from the cancelli showed the weariness and distress that had begun to make inroads on the animation of the girl’s beauty.  “No woman who would preserve her loveliness should let her cares trouble her dreams.”

“How am I to do that?” Laodice asked with a flare of scorn.

“Do I perceive in that a desire for advice or an explanation of a situation?”

“Both.”

Amaryllis smiled thoughtfully at the girl, while the light of sudden intent appeared on her face.

“You are unhappy, my dear, through your prejudices,” she began.  “We call convictions prejudices when they are other than our own beliefs.  By that sign, you shall know that I am going to take issue with you.  I am, perhaps, the ideal of that which you would not be.  But no man will say that my lot is not enviable.”

“Are you happy?” Laodice asked in a low voice.

“Are you?” the Greek returned.  “No,” she went on after a pause.  “A woman has the less happy part in life, though the greater one, if she will permit herself to make it great.  It was not her purpose on earth to be happy, but to make happy.”

“You take issue with Philadelphus in that,” Laodice interposed.  “It is his preachment to me that all that is expected of all mankind is to be happy.”

“He is a man, arguing from the man’s view.  It is inevitable law that one must be gladder than another.  Woman has the greater capacity for suffering, hence her feeling for the suffering of others is the quicker to respond.  And some creature of the gods must be compassionate, else creation long since had perished from the earth.”

Laodice made no answer.  This was new philosophy to her, who had been taught only to aspire at great sacrifice as long as God gave her strength.  She could not know that this strange and purposeful creed might some day appeal to her beyond her strength.

“Yet,” Amaryllis added presently in a brighter tone, “there is much that is sweet in the life of a woman.”

Laodice played with the tassels of her girdle and did not look up.  What was all this to lead to?

“I have spoken to Philadelphus about you,” the Greek continued.  “He has no doubt of this woman who hath established her claim to his name by proofs but without the manner of the wife he expected.  Yet he can not turn her out.  The siege hath put an end to your efforts in your own behalf and it is time to face your condition and make the best of it.  John feels restive; I dare not ask too much of him.  My household was already full, before you came.”