How could she be glad with such a man!  The time, the call of the hour, the need of her nation, the obligation to her dead father—­all these things stood in her way.  How had she felt, were this that engaging stranger who had called himself Hesper, urging her to be glad with him!  She felt, then and there, the recurrence of guilt which the sight of the reproachful face of Momus had brought to her when she found herself forgetting her loyalty in the presence of that winsome man.  The thought stopped the bitter speech that rose to her lips.  She looked away and made no answer.  He was close beside her.

“Come away and let this woman who wishes the kingdom have it.  She had liefer be rid of me than not.”

She gazed at him with a peculiar blankness stealing over her face.

“Oh, for the quintessence of all compounded oaths to charge my vow!” he said.

“For what?” she asked.

“My love, Phryne!”

At the old pagan name with which he had affronted her that morning in the hills, Laodice drew back sharply.

“Dost thou believe in me?” she asked.

“Believe what?”

“That I am thy wife.”

“Tut!  Back to the old quarrel!  No!  But by Heaven, thou art my sweetheart!”

She stopped at the edge of an exclamation and looked at him with widening eyes.

“Come, let us get out of this place.  I can get the dowry!  Let her stay here and be queen over this place if she will.  I had rather possess you than all the kingdoms!”

But Laodice flung him off while a flame of anger crimsoned her face.

“Thou to insult me, thy lawful wife!” she brought out between clenched teeth.  “Thou to offer affront to thine own marriage!  I to live in shame with mine own husband!”

The insult in his speech overwhelmed her and after a moment’s lingering for words to express her rage, she turned and fled back to her room and barred her door upon him.

After sunset the lights leaped up in the hall of Amaryllis the Greek.  Presently there came a knock at Laodice’s door.  The girl, fearing that Philadelphus stood without, sat still and made no answer.  A moment later the visitor spoke.  It was the little girl who acted as page for the Greek.

“Open, lady; it is I, Myrrha.”

Laodice went to the windows.

“Amaryllis sends thee greeting and would speak with thee, in her hall,” the girl said.

Reluctantly Laodice, who feared the revelation which the light might have to make of her stunned and revolted face, followed the page.

The Greek was standing, as if in evidence that the interview would not be long.  She noted the intense change on the face of her young guest and watched her narrowly for any new light which her disclosure would bring.

“I have sent for thee,” the Greek began smoothly, “to tell thee somewhat that I should perhaps withhold, that thou shouldst sleep well, this night.  But it is a perplexity perhaps thou wouldst face at once.”