“Evidently a gift from John,” the little girl was saying.  “He can not see that our lady does anything but collect curiosities in this her search after art, and so he must needs add a contribution in this Stygian monster we saw yesterday evening.”

Laodice knew that they discussed Momus.

“Perhaps,” the athlete said, “he bought this left-handed catapult thinking he might throw the discus farther than I can throw it.”

“Well enough,” the woman with paint on her tunic put in; “she sent the monster packing.  He went out of the gates post-haste last night, they say.”

“The pretty stranger that came with him stayed, I observe,” the athlete said.

“Pst!” the girl said in a low voice.  “Where are the man’s eyes in your head, that you do not see her?”

“Looking at you!” the athlete answered.

“Too soon!” the child retorted.  “A good six years before I shall know what your looks mean!”

“Is she, this pretty stranger, something of John’s taste?” the woman who had blue clay on her garment asked.

“Tut!” the athlete broke in.  “John never departed from his ancient barbarism to that extent.  That, unless I misjudge my own inclinations in a similar matter, is something this mysterious Philadelphus hath arranged to relieve the tedium of—­”

“Tedium!” the girl exclaimed.  “By Hector, this Jewish wife of his would open his Ephesian eyes were she to let loose all I suspect in her!”

“Brrr!  But you are suspicious!” the athlete shivered.  The little girl shaped her lips into a kiss and the athlete leaning across the table snatched it from her before she could avoid him.

The women caught him by the back of his tunic and pulled him down in his chair.

“Sit down!” they whispered.  “Don’t you see that Juventius is about to speak?”

The athlete glanced at the grown man, who had looked down into his plate at the youth’s frolic with the child, with the utmost disdain and boredom in his expression.  Now that the silence became noticeable, he spoke in an affected voice, but one of the deepest music.

“Alas, these Jews!” he said.  “How little they know about art!  How long has it been since he introduced one of the Temple singers into our lady’s hall to show what a piercing high note could be reached by a male voice?  And he had the creature sing to prove his contention.  I thought I should die!  It was worse than awful; it was criminal!”

The athlete laughed.

“Any singer, then, but Juventius therefore is a malefactor!” he said.

“No, it does not follow,” Juventius protested in all seriousness, while the child flashed a look of intense amusement at the athlete.  “But,” waving a pair of long white hands, “none should trifle with music.  It is one of the graces of Nature, divine and elemental.  Wherefore, anything short of a perfect production becometh a mockery and a mockery against divine things is blasphemy.  Ergo, the poor musician is in danger of Hades!”